


Night Skies; Sunrise

by imalright



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Battle of the Bands, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, i prefer to use characters' awakening names but this is mostly fates based, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25749790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imalright/pseuds/imalright
Summary: “I don’t have time to start a band,” Leo says.“You need to take a break, Leo!” Owain gives the perfect fantastical gesture to inspire great confidence, an uplifting pose carefully crafted to assure others of his trustworthiness. Leo doesn’t see it. It’s the thought that counts. “You’re burnt out! It’s time to rest that math brain of yours.”“It’s law.”“Law, math, same thing,” Owain says.“It’s really not.”The telephone pole of destiny hands Owain a sign. He takes it.
Relationships: Leon | Leo/Odin/Zero | Niles
Comments: 33
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ha! My user subscribers thought my last fates fic was a fluke. You fools!!!!
> 
> Anyway after several months of being told not to bother playing fates I played fates and I love it. Somebody send help
> 
> Thank you [eth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethereally) for beta reading!!!

_How many slams in an old screen door? Depends how loud you shut it.  
How many slices in a bread? Depends how thin you cut it.  
How much good inside a day? Depends how good you live 'em.   
How much love inside a friend? Depends how much you give 'em.   
— Shel Silverstein_

* * *

“I swear,” Severa says, entirely unimpressed, “You’re the most predictable nerd I’ve ever met.”

Owain expected this. “Owain Dark is anything but! He is capricious, a delicious devil —”

“Don’t ever call yourself delicious ever again,” Severa interrupts.

“— and agent of chaos! Owain Dark has been crafted by the Gods, themselves, to carry out the whims of the wicked, and this! _This_ is the siren call I’ve been waiting for; a sign, guiding my hand to my awesome destiny! What say you, Severa? Will you adhere to the scripture laid before you?”

Between them, sitting neatly in the center of a low wooden coffee table, is the beginning of the rest of their lives. An opportunity that’s sure to never repeat itself. It’s pivotal. It’s momentous. The very concept transcends anything he’s ever imagined! All he needs are partners in fate, comrades in arms.

His second choice crosses her arms and leans back on their couch, sinking into the deep purple cushions. She opens her mouth. He awaits her answer, eager to begin. This is it; the beginning of the rest of their lives.

“No.”

Owin frowns at the unforeseen setback. “C’moooon!”

“I’m not doing a stupid battle of the bands!” Severa snaps. “Why do you even wanna do this?”

He balks. “For — for destiny!”

His first choice snickers from the kitchen.

“He gave me the same argument,” Inigo shouts from behind the wall.

“It’s a good argument!”

“It’s super not.” Severa rolls her eyes and stands, stretching her arms above her head. “Good luck, or whatever. Bye.”

Before Owain can forge an explanation justifying his motives she’s gone, locked away behind the door to her bedroom. He considers bursting through the door with some grand monologue, some argument yet uncrafted, but it’s not the right time. Not yet. Instead, he retrieves the flier and stares at the bright colors and punchy typography announcing an epic battle of the bands. It’ll give him a sign. Fate never lets him down.

“You could enter by yourself.” Inigo appears from the kitchen and takes Severa’s abandoned seat on the couch. Owain surrenders and throws himself down on the other side.

“I can’t,” Owain says, “A band isn’t a single person, Inigo. A band is a group of people with the common goal of creation. As awesome as I may be, I am not a group.”

Inigo nods. “I see your problem.”

“Alas, my friends don’t share my thirst for innovation. I am left alone yet again.”

“Hm.” Inigo stuffs half an egg in his mouth and continues, this time with his mouth full. “Have you asked someone who doesn’t live with you? Maybe Severa and I are just sick of you.”

“You would never tire of me,” Owain pouts.

“I would if I had to attend band practice with you.”

Owain sighs. “You are a cruel, cruel friend, Inigo.”

He returns to reading and rereading the now wrinkled flier. The powers that be deny him direction.

“You could always ask Lucina,” Inigo suggests. Owain scoffs.

“My mother would never let me hear the end of it.” He tosses the flier back onto the table and watches as it flutters helplessly over the wood and down to the carpet. Figures. _“Don’t drag Lucina into any more of your schemes!_ she says. _You can’t take up all of your cousin’s free time!_ she says. Out of the question.”

“Ask my mom, then.”

Owain turns with suitable dramatics to stare at Inigo with his jaw dropped. “My mother would _actually_ kill me.”

“Good point.” Inigo stares at his half-eaten breakfast, his brow furrowed in thought.

Part of Owain eagerly awaits his genius idea; the smarter part of Owain prepares to be disappointed.

“Hey, you might actually win if you partner up with a bunch of cute girls!”

As per usual, Owain’s smarter side was correct.

“Please,” he sighs, “If you want to score dates you should just join my band.”

Inigo looks thoughtful for a moment. “Musicians _do_ get tons of girls.”

Owain waits. Here it is; Inigo will agree and this whole thing will resolve itself. His intentions may be impure, his inspiration drawn from the realm of horny, but Owain will take what he can get.

“Ah, but no,” Inigo says to the tune of Owain’s dropping heart, “I’d kill you.”

“My plan is doomed,” Owain groans. Inigo claps him on the shoulder.

“Chin up, friend,” he says, his face sunny and warm, “It’ll work out; it always does with you.”

Perhaps it will. Perhaps he’ll be touched by arcane knowledge, trusted with divine secrets, anything to show him his path. Or maybe he won’t and he’ll die on this couch.

“Easy for you to say,” Owain mumbles.

Inigo searches his face for a moment and asks, “Why do you care so much about this, anyway?”

Owain recalls with great clarity the moment his heart was struck. “The truth is I was given a gift; a beautiful melody they’ll sing for eons to come. I desire to share it with the world.”

“What, you wrote a song?”

“No.” He pauses dramatically. Inigo raises an eyebrow. “A band name.”

“Oh.” Inigo shovels the last of his breakfast into his mouth. He continues, muffled, “Well? What is it?”

Owain grins. “Prepare yourself, for this is blindingly powerful. I’ve simply outdone myself.”

Inigo gestures for him to continue.

“My band name,” he says, “Is _Die Käfer.”_

“Ah.” Inigo sets his empty plate on the coffee table. “That sounds, uh —”

“Lovely? Inspirational? By all means, Inigo, say it for yourself so you may experience its mouthfeel.”

“Okay, so,” Inigo sighs, overwhelmed by his genius, “What does _Die Käffer_ mean, exactly?”

Owain looks away. “That part isn’t important.”

“...You didn’t.”

Owain coughs. “I am unsure of what you’re implying, and unfortunately I must leave immediately to complete my mission in a timely manner. I regret to inform you I don’t have time to listen to your questions.”

Owain ignores Inigo’s smothered laughter and hurries away, crouching down to pick up the flier before hurrying to pull a sweatshirt over his head and skintight jeans over his ass. He ignores Inigo’s _open_ laughter and Severa’s sudden emergence from her lair and shoves his feet into his shoes before running out the door, barely remembering to grab his keys and check for his phone. He folds the flier and stows it away in his wallet before looking up and down the street. He huffs in disappointment, chooses a direction, and just _walks._

Underneath the overcast sky Owain doesn’t find any new enlightenment. The crisp autumn air doesn’t crackle with electricity. The leaves on the ground aren’t even crunchy. The flier weighs heavy in his wallet, dragging him down until he’s slumped and morose and considering giving up on the whole thing. Fate’s telling him to chase his destiny, but his friends and trusted loved ones don’t care to join.

Fate can be a friend and a fiend; forsaking his forged bonds for a dubious destiny would be stupid.

His feet carry him down overgrown sidewalks and back to the very telephone pole from whence his flier came. It doesn’t have answers. He walks around to the other side, contemplating his options. The other side doesn’t have answers, either. Telephone poles are cruel like that.

He’s considering moping around for a week or two and wallowing in his self pity when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out, looks at the name on the notification, and realizes he’s been so blinded by possibility that he never stopped to consider indoctrinating anyone he hasn’t known since he was five years old.

Shaking in anticipation, he swipes left on the notification and selects _call._

It rings.

Owain doesn’t bother waiting for Leo to speak; the moment he hears Leo accept the call he says, “Are you home?”

There’s a pause before Leo answers. _“...Yes? Why?”_

“Stay there!” Owain shouts. “I’m on my way!”

_“Hang on —”_

He hangs up and runs. Owain’s body screams as he runs at top speed down the street, panting for air, his mind focused on this one thing. He’s nearly there. His vision tunnels on his goal. He skids on the concrete and nearly trips over his own feet as he stumbles up a set of stairs and comes to a momentary stop until he unlocks the front door and rushes inside. The elevator won’t get him there fast enough. He darts toward the stairs, taking them three at a time, ignoring the stitch in his side screaming for him to chill until he makes it to the seventh floor and sprints down the hallway. He bursts through Leo’s apartment door, his speech on the tip of his tongue. He opens his mouth to begin —

And he chokes.

“Whoa,” he barely hears Niles’s voice over his coughing. It’s not the voice he was expecting, but he’ll take it. He struggles to greet him but every word mutilates his throat further. His battle is futile. He’ll die like this.

“I —” he begins, accelerating his untimely demise.

“Stop trying to talk,” Niles says, much closer this time. A glass of water appears in Owain’s line of sight. He takes it gratefully. “Drink some water, sit down, and try again.”

Owain stands straight and forces his protesting throat to drink and swallow. A hand on his shoulder guides him to a seat; he takes it, thoroughly thankful. The glass leaves his hand and returns moments later, filled and chilled, and he drinks that, too.

“Guys,” he forces out, voice still raspy, “I had the best idea.”

He looks around after delivering the great news. Leo looks at him from his open laptop across the table. Niles takes a bite of a corndog. They don’t respond. This is his last chance. He must succeed.

“Are you not intrigued?” His voice catches in his throat a bit. He takes another sip of water. “I, Owain Dark, make a grand entrance and you have no questions?”

They still don’t respond.

“Guuyysss,” he whines. He uses his sweatshirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “I ran all the way over here for this!”

“Well?” Niles says. Owain grins.

“Okay, hear me out —”

“I’m doing my homework, can’t this wait?” Leo groans.

“No, no,” Niles says with a mouth full of corndog, “Let’s hear him out.”

“I’m not gonna like this,” Leo mumbles.

Niles takes another much bigger bite of his corndog. “Well?” he asks, wiping his hand off on his ratty grey sweatpants. He is, notably, shirtless. “What’s your big idea?”

Owain sets his glass down. He can already tell he needs a different strategy. He decides to wing it. “I came up with the _best_ band name. It’s unsurpassable. I’ve truly outdone myself.”

He looks between his two incredible friends, his beloved companions, his admired allies, and awaits their reactions. Leo turns his attention back to his laptop. Niles eats the final bit of his corndog and tosses the stick in the trash.

“That’s your big idea,” Niles says. It’s not a question.

Owain nods.

“That’s not really an idea.”

Owain deflates.

“Come ooonnnn,” he whines again, “Let’s start a band!”

Leo freezes. Niles stares.

“What?” Leo says.

“What?” Niles says.

Pleased to have their attention he continues, “Then we can enter the battle of the bands!”

He pulls his wallet out of his ass pocket and carefully removes the flier. He unfolds it and lays it on the table, a beacon of hope in a sea of drawn curtains and, in Leo’s case, endless grad school.

Leo pushes his laptop away from him and lays his forehead on the table. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“It’d be so cool!”

“Owain,” Niles says, “How the fuck would we start a band? I know you’re good with your hands and all, but do you even know how to play an instrument?”

“Nope,” Owain says.

“Do you sing?”

Owain grins and opens his mouth. Niles all but flies over from the kitchen and covers his mouth with his hand.

“No you do not,” Niles purrs, his tone contradicting his harsh words, “And you will not.”

He removes his hand. Owain pouts.

“I don’t have time to start a band,” Leo says.

“You need to take a break, Leo!” Owain gives the perfect fantastical gesture to inspire great confidence, an uplifting pose carefully crafted to assure others of his trustworthiness. Leo doesn’t see it. It’s the thought that counts. “You’re burnt out! It’s time to rest that math brain of yours.”

“It’s law.”

“Law, math, same thing,” Owain says.

“It’s really not.”

Niles snorts.

“This is an opportunity to exercise your creative side!” Owain says, continuing to wave his arms around in an impressive manner, “To stay well rounded! Think of the things you can learn! The futures you could carve!”

“No,” Leo says.

Owain ignores him. “Let’s start a band and enter the battle of the bands!”

“No,” Leo says again.

“Yes!” Owain counters.

Niles, laughing for some reason, says, “Actually, I think this is a great idea.”

Owain’s heart soars. “I knew you’d see things my way,” he says with a tear in his eye.

Leo lifts his head and glares. “Fuck both of you,” he says.

Niles winks. Maybe. It’s hard to tell when he only has one eye.

“Shut up,” Leo says to Niles.

“I didn’t say anything,” Niles says with what’s probably a wink again.

“So what instruments does everyone wanna play?” Owain says to keep them on track, “I think guitar sounds fun. Can I play guitar?”

Leo groans.

Niles smirks. “Hey Leo, didn’t you take piano lessons as a kid?”

Owain gasps.

“That has nothing to do with this,” Leo snaps, “Like, at all.”

“Actually,” Niles says, “It has everything to do with this.”

“You play piano?” Owain asks, in awe.

“Wh — not anymore!” Leo nearly shouts, “It’s been fifteen years!”

Owain pumps his fist. “The muscle memory never leaves!”

“What he said,” Niles says.

“You have the skills to keep tempo!” Owain declares, “You have dexterity! Patience! The ability to _learn!_ Why, Leo, you should be on drums!”

“Yeah, Leo, you should be on drums,” Niles says. Owain beams.

Leo looks between the two of them and says, “Where in the world did you get that conclusion from?”

“What do you mean?” Owain asks, “They’re the same concept.”

Leo blinks. “Where are you even drawing these conclusions from? They’re not.”

“Sure they are!”

A weight makes its way around Owain’s shoulder. He looks up and finds Niles’ face very, very close to his, his arm draped across Owain. His very bare arm attached to his very bare torso. Owain’s face heats. Niles grins. “But Leo,” he says, “You love Owain! You’d really reject him like that?”

A devious plan fit for a devious deviant. Owain turns to Leo and pouts.

“Stone cold,” Niles sighs.

“Fine!” Leo shouts, slamming his hands on the table. His entire face is blushing bright pink. “I’ll play the stupid drums. Just let me do my homework.”

“Whoo!” Owain cheers. It was fate that Leo texted him at that moment. There’s no other explanation for how this is all going so smoothly.

“Whoo indeed,” Niles says. He moves from draping himself over Owain’s shoulder to sit in his own chair.

Owain looks between his friends. “So Leo’s on drums —”

“Whatever,” Leo grumbles.

“You seem like a drummer type,” Niles says.

“What the hell is a drummer type?”

Niles gestures to Owain. “You’re definitely a guitarist type.”

Owain nods.

“So, what,” Leo says, voice dry, “You’re singing? You don’t seem the type.”

Niles laughs. “Maybe I’m the singing type,” he says, “Owain’s certainly not.”

“That’s not an answer,” Leo points out.

“I can sing if you make me,” Niles says, his voice low and smooth.

Owain doesn’t ask what that’s supposed to mean. “Do you sing?”

The grin that crosses Niles’ face is a wicked thing. Owain leans forward in his chair, anticipation coiling in his gut. Niles takes a deep breath in. Owain grips the edge of the table. He wants to hear the angels sing and he wants to hear it straight from Niles’s mouth.

What comes out can’t quite be described as offkey, because that would indicate a key to begin with. It can’t quite be described as off tempo, because there’s no beat to follow. Niles hollers and howls and honks and Owain has finally seen into hell.

“You can’t sing at all!” Leo shouts, cutting Niles off.

“Nope,” Niles says.

“You’re a devilish man.” Owain pulls on his ear in an attempt to clear his memory. “We were fools to believe you.”

Leo lays his head in his hands. “I knew this was a mistake. Is it too late to back out?”

“You’d make Owain cry?” Niles asks.

Owain ignores this. It’s already been written in the scripture of fate. “Let me sing!”

Niles shrugs. “Sure, whatever.”

“Didn’t you _just_ say he’s not singing,” Leo says.

“I changed my mind,” Niles says, grinning. Leo lays his head back down on the table. The atmosphere sparks with passion and genius. It’s a lot to take in.

“So that leaves Niles on bass?” Owain says after a pause.

“Oh, so that’s it,” Niles says, his face serious, “I’m the leftovers.”

“N-no! I —” Owain stammers, the crushing weight of his remorse suffocating him as he tries to find the correct words, “You’re better than that, Niles! I’m so sorry! Do you want to play something else? You can take guitar! I don’t mind!”

It takes him a moment to register that Niles's face has softened. “No,” he says. Owain relaxes. “I’m fucking with you.”

“Great! Glad we figured that out.” Leo runs his hands through his hair. “Are we done? I still have homework to do.”

“Oh, but you’re so stressed.” Niles leans across the table and rests his elbow as close to Leo as he possibly can. “I can help you unwind, you know. I’m very good at that.”

Leo barely reacts. “What, like how you brought your pajamas to my apartment?” he asks, voice flat.

“What can I say?” Niles returns to his seat and leans back in his chair, fiddling around with his ponytail. “I know how to unwind.”

“Niles,” Owain says, awed, “You’re a genius.”

Leo clears his throat. Owain’s attention snaps to him. “If the two of you can’t behave, leave. Stop making out with your eyes.”

“You know I can’t behave,” Niles drawls, “Or did you want to be invited? I can make space.”

“Leave,” Leo says.

“I have a better idea.”

Niles throws an arm over Owain’s shoulder again and pulls him to his feet. Leo watches warily as Niles guides them over to Leo and throws his other arm over his shoulder as well. Leo groans, but he grabs his laptop and allows Niles to steer them all to the couch.

“Sit down,” he says, playfully pushing them into the cushions. Owain sinks down next to Leo. Leo crosses his legs and returns to his homework. “We’re watching a movie. I vote one we don’t have to pay attention to.”

“Let’s watch a battle of the bands movie!” Owain exclaims.

“No,” Leo says. Owain turns to pout, but the sight of Leo’s small smile erases his despair.

“Owain’s right,” Niles says, “We need to research. Know the playing field. After all, everyone knows real life is just like the movies.”

“I thought you said you don’t want to pay attention,” Leo says, smirking.

“I guess I lied.”

Owain’s face hurts from grinning so much. “I’m so excited,” he says as Niles pushes them aside and settles in between them. They sit, crowded together, on Leo’s loveseat and ignore the armchair and copious floor space.

Owain doesn’t think there’s anybody else he could want to face destiny with.

* * *

> **Owain:** I came up with the best famous person alias
> 
> **Severa:** No you did not
> 
> **Inigo:** I don’t wanna know. Don’t tell me
> 
> **Owain:** My top secret famous person alias is…
> 
> **Owain:** Odin Dark!
> 
> **Owain:** Isn’t that cool???
> 
> **Severa:** I hate you so much
> 
> **Owain:** I can’t wait to tell you about my new band
> 
> **Inigo:** Oh you found someone? Who?
> 
> **Owain:** It’s a surprise
> 
> **Owain:** I know the anticipation is torture
> 
> **Severa:** Stop double texting
> 
> **Owain:** But alas, this is the type of tale that must be woven in person
> 
> **Owain:** No
> 
> **Inigo:** I have a great idea
> 
> **Owain:** :o
> 
> **Inigo:** How about tomorrow morning, before Severa goes to work and before she’s had her coffee, you can tell us all about your band in great detail. Very loudly. I bet she’d love that
> 
> **Severa:** I’M MOVING OUT
> 
> **Owain:** That sounds perfect!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok hi. Hello. I’m back on my bullshit with obnoxious premises that are everyone else’s problem now
> 
> Anyway have fun, take care, and make some harmless bad decisions it’s good for you
> 
> [](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owain buys a guitar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again [eth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethereally) for beta reading!! i owe you my life

Truly, the gods of time have chosen a challenging moment to put Owain on trial. He hears the knock on the front door and hurries to pull his shirt over his head. He hears Inigo open the gate for their newest invader and he pulls his jeans over his ankles in a fury. Finally, a knock on his bedroom door sends him into a terrible panic.

Owain falls over onto his bedroom floor with a huff, but he will not be bested by a pair of jeans. He pulls them up, bit by bit, pulling the denim over his legs with the strength of the wicked. He kicks one foot. His jeans shift further up his leg. This will take awhile.

“Please, I need a moment of preparation,” he yells to his closed bedroom door. A snort comes from the other side.

“Are you pooping?” Niles’s voice shakes with mirth.

“If I were I would be locked behind another door, vacating the demons nesting deep in my body into a watery grave!” He grunts with a particularly strong pull and ignores Niles’s open laughter. “But alas, I am simply wrestling with demons of another kind. I will prevail, I just… I need a minute.”

“Oohh, what kind of demons? Do you want any help?” Niles calls. Owain can hear someone choking in the depths of his apartment.

“I do not!” Owain wriggles his hips a bit. He’s so close. He lifts his legs into the air and prays to the Gods of gravity for a helping hand. They pull partway over his hips. He takes a deep breath, prepares for one final tug, and —

His bedroom door swings open.

“Oops, my bad.” Niles steps in and freezes. Owain freezes. Their eyes lock.

It’s unfair how Niles can stroll into his private lair in a full outfit complete with brown leather boots and a black leather jacket. It’s unfair how Niles can so casually wear an eyepatch and his hair in a stupid bun on the back of his head. It’s unfair how Niles can stand upright like he owns the world and commands the spirits while Owain is ass-up, on the floor, with his legs kicking wildly in the air. Owain swallows.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he says.

Niles’s eye sparkles with mischief. “What, exactly, do you think it looks like?”

Owain would cough if he would. But he can’t. Because he’s upside-down. Instead, he turns his humiliation into determination and  _ pulls _ and, finally, his jeans make it over his ass.

“I assumed,” Owain says as he rolls to his feet and stands up in one very cool, fluid motion and zips his fly, “It appeared to be a dark ritual; one so terrible you may decide to execute me without trial. Such is the fear of those who practice the blackest of magicks.”

Niles hums. “Nah, it just looked like you need new pants.”

Owain gasps. “One does not simply  _ buy new pants, _ Niles. These have been imbued with my energy! They’re marinated with my very essence!”

_ “Gross!” _ Selena shouts through the shared wall between their bedrooms.

Niles points at the wall. “What she said.”

“You may walk the path of darkness, my friend, but you know nothing of true power.”

“Nope,” he agrees easily. “Is your ass put away? We’re supposed to meet Leo in, ah,” he smirks, the villain, “Ten minutes.”

_ “Ten —“  _ Owain double checks his pants and shirt. “We must make haste, my friend! Hurry, Leo awaits!”

He leads the charge out the door and to Niles’s car. Niles, the disrespectful dastard, takes his damned time strolling out the door while Owain hops on his heels waiting for Niles to unlock the car. Owain thinks he might combust when he finally acquiesces. He throws his body into the car with a sigh of relief.

Despite being quite late they arrive at the same time as Leo. Leo nods in greeting and leads the way through the automatic gate and into another dimension: the dimension or rock.

It takes mere moments for Owain to find his ultimate destiny hanging among hundreds of other guitars on the wall.

His heart jolts and his world stops turning. Everything tunnels in on this masterpiece hanging on the wall. Irrelevant details blur and, and, as he approaches the universe’s most everlasting guitar of perfection, it almost seems to glow, touched by immortal deities high in the heavens.

“Whoa…”

It’s art. Hanging just out of reach and calling his name is an electric guitar, hot pink with bolts of silver holographic lightning cutting jagged scars across its body. He can hear the strings cry and he can feel, deep in the depths of his dark soul, the divine voltage coursing through his veins. It’s this one. It  _ has _ to be this one.

“So,” Niles sidles up next to him and admires this providential creation, “This is it, huh?”

Owain can’t even speak. The words have been torn from his throat. He just nods.

“Good, I was expecting to be here for days while you communed with each individual string or something.”

“No,” Owain barely breathes, “I know celestial when I see it. This, my friend, is celestial.”

“Looks electric to me.”

“It’s calling to me.” He reaches out and just barely ghosts his fingers over the neon shine. “Can you hear it, Niles?”

Niles hums. “Nope.”

The sun shines through the roof of the building and warms his heart. Friendly spirits wreath this guitar in a holy light. The angels are singing and each one is playing this exact guitar, each in a different hue, a rainbow of cool arching across the sky to a pot of gold, also filled with this guitar. Owain swallows.

“I’ve never seen something so beautiful,” he confesses.

And then, like a sledgehammer to his skull, a flat voice interrupts his vision and soils it all.

“No,” Leo says behind him, “Absolutely not.”

Owain spins on his heel and gawks. “How could you possibly say such a thing?”

Leo crosses his arms over his sweater vest and sighs. “I’m not paying for that. It’s hideous.”

Owain’s mouth opens and closes, forming around sounds and syllables but unable to force any out. He coughs. 

“I dunno, Leo,” Niles leans an elbow on Owain’s shoulder, “It’s pretty cool.”

“I’ll buy it myself, then,” Owain finally says. He raises a hand to call the attention of the shopkeeper —

_ “No!” _ Leo looks to be in great physical pain. “I forbid you from owning that!”

The breath leaves his body. His soul falls into the depths of despair, pulled out into the ocean with the tides of hell.

“But  _ whyyyy?” _ he doesn’t whine.

“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen!”

Owain looks at the floor. “It’s cool…”

“I think Owain has great taste,” Niles says. Owain smiles a little.

“You’re lying,” Leo says.

Niles snorts. “I’m totally lying.”

The remains of Owain’s smile crumbles. He collapses into himself, a shining star meeting its inevitable end, and he sighs.

“I’ll look at something else then,” he says without lifting his head.

Leo groans. “Don’t look so sad, you’ll make me feel bad.”

Owain puts on the best happy mask he can. “I don’t look sad.”

It must not be a very good mask because Niles says, “You totally look sad.”

Owain puts on his next best mask: his two hands. He hides his entire face and says with as much strength as he can, “I’m not trying to!” He’s almost gotten his face under control when Leo speaks again.

“Wow,” he says, “You really want this guitar that bad.”

“No, it’s okay,” Owain says into his palms.

Warm, soft hands take his and pull them away from his face, firm but gentle. He screws his eyes shut.

“Look what you’ve done, Leo,” Niles sighs, “You broke his heart. His very verbose heart.”

“No he didn’t,” Owain says to the darkness behind his eyelids, “It’s not that serious. I’ll find another.”

A short pause.

_ “Fine!” _ Leo shouts, “I’ll buy you this stupid ugly guitar.”

Owain’s eyes snap open. His feet could leave the ground from the way his stomach soars. “Really? You mean it?!”

Niles’s hands leave his and he doubles over in laughter.

Several hours later they finally leave the store and load Leo’s dreamy drum set into the trunk of his enormous SUV. Owain sits in the back with his new guitar in its case between his legs and Niles’s bass next to him for safekeeping. Every bump and turn taken too sharply causes something to bang but Owain can’t bring himself to care.

“Did they even package the cymbals?” Leo mutters to himself. 

“One cannot package  _ fate,” _ Owain says.

“I’m already regretting this.”

“It’s the melody of our futures together!” 

Niles laughs. “Seems pretty cymbalic if you ask me.”

“If you ever,  _ ever _ make a joke like that again,” Leo groans, “I will kill you with my own two hands.”

Niles smirks. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Nooo, Leo!” Owain begs, “That’s our partner in this chariot we call life! Please don’t kill Niles!”

“Yeah, Leo, please don’t kill Niles,” Niles says.

“I truly hate both of you.”

Niles turns to face Leo fully. “No you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

“Nah, you love me.” Niles locks eyes with Owain, “I don’t know about someone else in this car, though.”

Owain stares at the back of Leo’s head. “Do you love me, Leo?”

Leo doesn’t respond. Owain pouts.

Niles shakes his head. “He’s lying, he totally loves you.”

Owain grins. 

The car turns and they pull into Niles’s driveway, directly behind Niles’s car. Owain carries as much as he can (one guitar) and waits eagerly for Niles to unlock the door. Once his nefarious portal has been opened he rushes inside, sets his guitar on the couch lovingly, and bolts back outside to help bring Leo’s drum set inside.

“Let’s set this up in the basement,” Niles says. Owain sets his box down and hurries to cradle his guitar, his baby, and carefully carries it down a set of stairs into a carpeted basement. Niles follows with his bass, and Leo descends soon after with a single box. 

Leo scowls. “Why does your basement always smell weird?”

“We can make it smell weirder,” Niles says.

“Please, no.”

Owain perks up. “We can burn incense for inspiration!”

“Please,” Leo sighs, “No.”

“Imagine! The sacred smoke curls in the air around us, invading our senses and activating our minds!” He’s positive this is a good idea. “We could see everything, hear everything,  _ feel _ everything!”

“You know that doesn’t actually work, right?” Niles asks. “It’ll help the smell, though.”

“You must open your  _ mind.”  _ Owain waves his hands, manipulating the innate magical mildew aroma. 

Niles narrows his eye and says, “Okay, hang on, you need to drink some water.”

Owain freezes. “What? Why? I’m not thirsty.”

“You’re getting weird,” Niles says, “You need to drink water.”

“He’s always weird,” Leo says. 

“No, this is a different weird.”

Owain pats his pockets for the incense stick he doesn’t have. He just needs to show them the truth. “It’ll help, just,” he diligently pats his pockets again, “Trust me. I can run to the corner store and grab some —”

So focused on his frantic search, Owain doesn’t realize Niles has left the room until he returns with a glass of the forbidden liquid, the fuel of life. His mouth runs dry. Or was it always dry? He doesn’t think about it too hard and simply takes this gift and downs the glass in mere moments. Already his mind clears, his vision sharpens.

“Okay,” he admits, “Perhaps I was unfocused.”

“Great,” Leo says, “Now can you please help me get all this into the basement?”

“Of course! You need only ask, my friend.”

They ascend to the land of the living, retrieve Leo’s drum set piece by piece, and bring it back with them into Niles’s secret lair. Leo relegates them to box duty and sets up his own station while Owain and Niles wrestle with cardboard beasts of another kind.

Several minutes later, after restoring peace to their underground astral dimension, Owain sits. In his lap, cradled by his hands, is his holy weapon for his final war. She shines, she glows, she pulses with the force of the mighty. 

This is it: the beginning of the end. Everything hinges on this very moment. He must channel his faith into his very fingertips, prove his devotion on the pattern of her frets. He says a quick prayer and retrieves his pick, takes a deep breath, and allows instinct to guide him as he strums down and releases the song in her strings, the symphony stranded in her electric skeleton.

It sounds like shit. 

He falters. He festers. He  _ frowns. _

“How does such a feeble sound erupt from such an incredible beast?” he murmurs to himself. “Did I stray off the path? Is this punishment for some unknown wrongdoing?”

“I’m realizing,” Leo says, voice slow and measured, “That we didn’t purchase amps.”

Owain’s face screws up in confusion. “Huh?”

“Wow,” Niles says, “We’re stupid.”

“What do you — amps?” Owain looks between the two. They look back at him. “What are these infernal beasts?”

Leo blinks. “I hate to ask this, but did you do  _ any _ research?”

Shit. Owain covers his blunder like he covers his face: by covering part of his face.

“Owain Dark was blessed by divine knowledge,” he declares, “He need not be burdened by such paltry things as  _ research.” _

“Yeah, Leo,” Niles says, holding back laughter, “Get a grip.”

Leo ignores this. “You bought an electric guitar,” he says, pointing at Owain, “Well, wait,  _ I _ bought an electric guitar. The point stands that you’re holding an electric guitar.”

“That I do!” He sits up, straight and proud. “And a beautiful one, at that. One with —”

“An electric guitar requires an amp to sound good,” Leo cuts him off, “It sounds like that without one.”

“Oh ho, Leo!” Niles leans closer, causing Leo’s face to blush bright red, “You didn’t tell us you had so much experience.”

“I don’t,” he grits out, “Everybody knows this.”

“My friends!” Owain holds both his hands up in front of him, calming the tension in the air and bringing down a blanket of serenity. “We may simply return and purchase these  _ amps _ at a later date. Probably.”

“You got it, boss.” Niles returns to his position a respectful distance away from Leo’s face. “So, mister genius band name creator, christener of Die Käfer, where do we start?”

“Um, hm!” Owain looks back down at his guitar. “I… I don’t know.”

“I have an idea,” Niles says. “Let’s all be self taught. Everybody go.”

Owain closes his eyes. Self taught. He can do this. He releases control to the powers below and feels his hands guide themselves, preparing his masterpiece, setting his stage. He goes  _ wild. _ It sounds like shit, but he has faith that it’ll sound really, really cool with an arcane amp.

A hand wraps around his wrist. He jumps.

“I was joking,” Niles says. Owain blinks his eyes open.

“Oh,” he says.

Leo sighs and leans back on his elbows next to his drums. “I guess we could take lessons?”

Owain’s heart stops. His mouth drops open.

“Lessons?! Leo, you must have faith in  _ yourself, _ you must learn with your mind unsullied by the dark tendrils of another. You are pure of heart, I must insist you remain so.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Leo says.

Owain ponders his words for a moment. “I believe we can keep our minds unclouded by outside forces if we partake in the spread of knowledge behind the veil of digital anonymity. In fact,” he picks up speed and tries to get the words out as fast as possible, “If we were to safely seek out our own sources, we’ll see improvement on par with what was once only possible with dark rituals. What are lessons once a week compared to the constant absorption of the science of sound?”

Leo stares for a moment before asking, “You know part of lessons is practicing between them, right? You don’t just practice with a teacher for a half hour once a week.”

Niles has a hand over his mouth in awe. “No, no,” he says, his eyes crinkling and voice cracking mysteriously, “This is perfect. Let’s do that.”

Owain nods. “Thank you, Niles.”

“Anything for you.”

Leo throws himself all the way onto the floor. “I’m going to embarrass myself, aren’t I?”

“Oh, yes,” Niles says with a kind pat to Leo’s knee, “You definitely are.”

“Embarrassment in the face of destiny is nothing!” Owain proclaims. “Now, onward!”

Filled with a fresh determination, Owain retrieves his holy tome and types  _ how to play guitar _ onto its holy touch screen. Video after video appears, waiting to be of use to a prodigy such as himself. He pops in his headphones and scrolls through his options.

There are a  _ lot _ of options.

Leo’s voice cuts through the fog of desperate decision. “You look constipated.”

The words tangle themselves in the intricate connections in his mind. He looks up to Leo. “Huh?”

“He said you look constipated,” Niles says, louder. Owain focuses on his ass and finds an uncomfortable sensation.

“Oh,” he says, amazed as always at their ability to read him, “I may have been afflicted by fiends seeking to rip apart the chosen one. You need not worry, however, for Owain Dark will prevail, as he always does.”

Niles howls.

“Do, uh,” Leo looks conflicted, “Do you want a laxative?”

Owain shifts. Satisfied, he says, “No, it will come when it’s ready. The wheel of time continues guiding it along its path.”

“Great!” Niles shouts through his laughter, “Now get to work! I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s only three months for us to get good!”

Owain’s stomach drops.  _ “There’s only three months!” _

“You literally haven’t shut up about there only being three months since yesterday,” Leo says, voice flat.

“There’s no time to lose!”

The hours fly. Owain’s focus hones in on his own fingers, dancing a hypnotic step over his guitar’s strings in time with several instructional videos. Niles leans over and adjusts his grip at one point. His headphones don’t quite tune out Leo’s courageous attempt at the drums, but the steady crashing fills him with power and rage and more power.

He soon learns power isn’t enough. His fingers burn bright red, his one track mind flies off on several different tracks and he finds himself getting distracted by more and more advanced videos until he’s struggling to keep up and his hand gives out.

Owain collapses onto his back on the carpet, gasping for air and covered in sweat. His pants are thoroughly marinated, as is his shirt, his hair, and his very essence. Niles and Leo don’t fare much better; Niles’s hair is plastered to his forehead and Leo might actually be chasing sweet, sweet release, straight into his grave.

“Leo, you mustn’t die,” he gasps out, “Who else could possibly play your percussive tools?”

“Shut — up —“ Leo pants between breaths.

The weight of their predicament soaks in through Owain’s skin, its wicked fingers wrapping around his very bones and coating them in aching exhaustion. He surrenders, allows it to hold him down and constrict his chest, lays there helpless on the precipice of life and death. 

“This is hard,” is all he can think to say. The rest of his mind is mud; warm play-doh in the hands of the toddler that is life.

A low, familiar chuckle extends a lifeline. “You didn’t know?” Niles asks.

“Told you,” Leo mutters.

Owain opens his eyes and stares at the drop ceiling. “I didn’t realize how hard this would be.”

There’s shuffling from Leo as he relocates to the floor. “So are we giving up, then? We can still return all this.”

Owain jolts up and stares at Leo, jaw agape. “No!” He says with as much strength as he can pull in his terrible state, “I will not give into failure!”

“I wouldn’t expect any less,” Niles says. He smiles fondly between Leo’s exasperated face and Owain’s own encouraging visage. “This is kinda fun, honestly. I’m having a great time.”

Leo runs a hand through his hair. “Of course you are,” he mutters.

Owain frowns. He’s never seen Leo look so worn out and, against his prophetic judgement, he wonders if perhaps this wasn’t the greatest idea.

“Are you not?” he asks.

Leo glares. “You are  _ so _ lucky I love you.”

Everything else falls out of his brain.  _ “Ha!  _ So you admit it!”

Leo continues to glare. Niles sighs.

“Look, it’s okay that it’s hard. It’s hard for all of us.” 

For how much he loves to sow discord, Niles sometimes knows exactly what to say.

“And I know how much you love hard things.”

And there it is.

“Yes! Leo always rises to the challenge!” Owain refuses to acknowledge Niles’s line and forges forward, “It’s one of the many things I admire about him!”

Leo’s face loses any illusion of normalcy it had regained and flushes a bright, bright red. 

“Yep!” Niles smirks. “That’s exactly what I said.”

Leo looks away. “Great. Thanks.”

“But!” Niles claps his hands onto his knees as if he’s speaking to legions of cursed kindergartners, “It’s late. You guys should probably go.”

Owain twists around in search of a window. The small portals near the ceiling of the basement reveal nothing, only inky blackness, a dimension of nothingness and despair.

“Holy shit.” Owain’s head snaps to Leo. Leo’s looking at his phone. “I have to go. Like, right now.”

If asked later, Owain would swear Leo teleported out of the house. He blinks and Leo’s gone, the only evidence he was ever present being his abandoned drum set. He doesn’t blink again for fear of Niles disappearing the same way.

“Let’s go,” Niles says, standing despite Owain’s best efforts. He gives up and blinks. “I wanna sleep and I have to bring you home first.”

Owain scrambles to his feet. “Right, of course, my friend! I would curse my very own soul if I were to infringe upon your soirée with the demons of darkness.”

“Right. My soirée. That’s it.” 

The walk up the stairs and outside to Niles’s car passes in a flash. Owain wonders if some being is manipulating time around him, ushering him through the inane moments to preserve his energy for more important duties. He doesn’t appreciate it. He’ll have to have a conversation with the powers beyond the veil. Tomorrow.

For now he’ll settle for sitting in Niles’s passenger seat, listening to whatever mysterious music Niles chooses to share, enjoying the ride along the edge of greatness. If they nosedive into oblivion, or if they fly high into the cosmos, then he’ll worry about his timeliness. 

“Thank you,” he says for no particular reason. Maybe it’s for the band, and maybe it’s for something more.

Niles chuckles. “You owe me,” he says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried to wait until a week after i posted the first chapter to update but i kept looking at the cursed 1/? in my works tab and i couldn't take it anymore
> 
> i hope yall are doing well, take care!
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer) / [retweet this fic!](https://twitter.com/punchyfakegamer/status/1292885498453790721)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owain sleeps over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again to [eth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethereally) for beta reading!!

“So,” Severa says without looking up from her phone, “When are you gonna kiss or whatever?”

Owain chokes.

“Wh-what?!” he sputters out between coughs. Severa smacks him on the back with enough force to exorcise a horse. It doesn’t help. He’s going to perish here, under the rays of the setting sun.

“Oh my gods, Severa, you can’t just ask when they’re gonna kiss,” Inigo says from his position on the floor. He moves fluidly from his first stretch to a second, even worse stretch without so much as a flinch. Severa scoffs.

_“Waah, you can’t just ask when they’re gonna kiss, I’m Inigo, waah,”_ she says in a similar tone to how Inigo would sound if he were possessing a mid-century doll. “Grow up, Inigo.”

Inigo opens his mouth to speak, but Owain’s far too quick for that. He clears his throat, finally free of its vicelike prison. He will get this abominable conversation under his own abominable control; no longer will Severa command the subject.

“You hapless heroine!” he declares, “You wish to uncover Owain Dark’s abyssal secrets? You believe you have the ability to find that which he has concealed? Tread carefully, my dear Severa, for one as bright as yourself is not equipped to delve into the shadows.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Talk like a normal person.”

“Alas, Owain Dark has been plagued by this affliction since the day of his birth.” Owain sighs dramatically. “It is this curse that campaigns for my banishment from the light of society above, and it is this curse that protects you from the perils within.”

“So did you kiss or not?”

Severa has always held a particular talent for dismissing his carefully crafted explanations. He tries another approach.

“You know as well as I that such common practices as _kissing_ don’t warrant my attention,” he says. It’s a perfect save. “The only being with such impure thoughts is you, Severa. Perhaps you deserve to lurk in the shadows by my side, after all.”

“Uh huh. You’re obviously on the road to smoochville.” She glances up from her phone for the first time since the conversation started. “Get it over with so I don’t have to watch this.”

Owain has already pulled his phone out and is making a note to himself. “On the road to smoochville is an excellent band name.”

“Perfect. Tell your boyfriends you changed the name.”

Owain shakes his head. “No, our band name is perfect. _Die Käfer._ It’s classic. Timeless, even! No, this is good for my next band.”

Inigo straightens. “Your _next_ band?”

Owain nods emphatically.

“You’re seriously gonna do this again,” Severa says more than asks.

“Of course!” Owain says, “Such activities as creation and performance are the perfect outlet for my dark powers. Since I’ve been partaking in these rituals I’ve felt clearer, my thoughts are free from their heavy shackles.”

“Are you still gonna play with Leo and Niles?” Inigo asks.

“Alas, those two don’t seem to reap the benefits that I do,” Owain says, his voice full of sorrow, “I believe the moment our contract is complete they’ll depart from our partnership and I’ll have to find new accomplices.”

“What, they don’t like it?”

Owain frowns. “To put it in simple terms, yes, they don’t seem to like it.”

“Hm, bummer.” Inigo leans back onto his hands. “I suppose that’s why you all stayed up so late that you fell asleep together, then?”

Warm shoulders and the soft scent of Niles’s cologne invade his memory in a savage siege. Leo’s face, relaxed by sleep, laying heavy on his torso follows, and the peculiar warm feeling that overtook his physical form and left him floating in bliss for hours after beckons him forward. Owain does not follow its call.

“Th-that was one time!” he whines.

“It was last night,” Severa says with a nasty grin, “Did you even change your underwear?”

He sags. “How did you uncover my secrets?”

“You told us,” Inigo says with a much kinder grin.

“Why are you like this?” Severa mutters.

Inigo gasps in false shock. “Severa! You can’t just ask why he’s like this!”

Severa grabs a throw pillow and throws it at Inigo’s head. It bounces off his face, his smile unfazed. He tucks it under his ass.

“Thank you,” Inigo says.

Owain hopes that was enough of a distraction to forget about the conversation, but Inigo and Severa both turn their attention back to him and he crumbles under their expectant gazes.

“I know how it appears from the outside,” Owain says, deliberately slow, “But there is no such union — wait, that’s not it — there is no potential arrangement between, um, us.”

Inigo’s grin somehow burns brighter. “Not yet!”

Owain’s heart threatens to throttle itself in his chest. “Not ever,” he says before clearing his throat, “Such an arrangement would impose unnecessary risk on our partnership; I would never allow such feelings or actions to interrupt —”

Inigo claps his hands together. “So you _do_ like them!”

Shit. He stumbles over his words. “Th-that’s not what I said —”

“Well, do you like them or not?” Inigo presses.

Words threaten to tumble from his lips if he doesn’t halt the exchange. He switches tactics.

“Don’t _you_ have a crush on your boss?” He conveniently ignores the whole _that’s Leo’s brother_ thing.

Inigo sputters and immediately his face flushes a bright, bright red. Score. “I — this isn’t about me!”

“Of course not!” Owain basks in the sweet rush of victory as Inigo glows in embarrassment, cringing back under his stare. “No, it’s about resplendent golden curls calling for your touch; it’s about muted smiles that run unrestrained in your presence; it’s —”

“Agh, forget it!” Inigo shoots to his feet and darts out of the room, covering his face with his hands in a convenient, meaty shield. His bedroom door slams shut. Owain breathes a sigh of relief.

One down, one to go. He turns to Severa. She ignores him in favor of her phone.

“And you, Severa? Does your heart yearn for a love affair worthy of airport romance novels?”

“Answer the stupid question,” she says.

“I fear it’s slipped my mind.”

She throws her phone facedown on the floor. He swallows under her full attention. “Do you, or do you not, have feelings for your little _bandmates?”_

“I —” ah, fuck it, the words are gonna come out eventually. He may as well say something while he has some semblance of control. “It doesn’t matter.”

Her eyes narrow. “Why not?”

He groans. “It’s a terrible idea, Severa. One need only to look through history to know romance between friends always ends in turmoil.”

“When has something being a bad idea _ever_ stopped you?”

This catches him off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You have so many bad ideas,” she says.

Owain huffs. “Name one.”

“Uh, making a band?” she says. He feels his face heat. “When none of you can even play music? And entering a battle of the bands? Which is in two-and-a-half months, by the way.”

“My plan is splendid,” Owain counters.

“And you’re doing all this with two men you have crushes on, _and_ you won’t even admit it.”

“An admission of guilt is as good as a loss,” Owain says, “And I am not one to lose.”

“The sooner you deal with this the sooner you can do something about it,” she says. Then she points to Owain’s pocket. “Your phone keeps lighting up, by the way. Are your boyfriends calling you?”

“I’m not — they’re not —” Owain fumbles as he pries his phone from its denim prison. “There’s nothing to be done!”

“Okay, fine,” she says as she retrieves her phone. He slumps in relief. “I’m gonna pop a blood vessel if we keep talking about this. Call your boyfriends back.”

He doesn’t hear the last bit, though, because he’s immediately sucked into his group chat with Leo and Niles.

> **Leo:** I have too much homework tonight. I can’t practice every night, I’m in school, I will not allow my grades to suffer
> 
> **Niles:** Ok that’s fine. Tomorrow?
> 
> **Leo:** I don’t know yet. We’ll see
> 
> **Niles:** You can say no
> 
> **Leo:** I’m not saying no, I’m saying I don’t know yet
> 
> **Owain:** Leo! Focus on your studies, allow your math brain to flourish while your creative brain takes a well deserved rest. Niles and I can take the next steps of our journey alone, and you may retake your place at a later date
> 
> **Niles:** Yeah what he said
> 
> **Leo:** Great, do that. I’ll try to be there tomorrow
> 
> **Owain:** Do your best!
> 
> **Niles:** Cool

“You look like you just got terrible news,” Severa says. She scrunches up her nose. “Ugh, did you eat a bug again?”

Owain doesn’t think he heard her correctly. He shakes his head. “No, this is simple day-to-day tedium. Leo is unable to join us for our arcane training this evening.”

She furrows her brow. “You have practice tonight?”

“Of course!” He looks her up and down, surprised at her lack of knowledge. “We must train daily. Our skills are mere fledglings; they must be honed, curated, strengthened so that one day they may fly through the clouds and soar over seas. It’s hard work being a bird, Severa.”

She glances at her phone and says, “What time?”

“Ah, dark magic doesn’t operate on a schedule. It is simply strongest in the night.”

She gestures to the window. “It’s night.”

So it is. “Oh.”

> **Owain:** At what time shall I descend upon your lair?
> 
> **Niles:** I can just pick you up now

Owain replies with an affirmative and says to Severa, “It seems he will retrieve my mortal form in just a few minutes’ time.”

“Great,” Severa says, “Get out of my house.”

“I could say the same to you.”

Her lips twist into a smirk. “And give your boyfriend a kiss from me.”

He throws his head back and screams in rage.

* * *

One spare pair of underwear in his pocket and an uncomfortable car ride later:

“Are you okay?” Niles asks, amusement clear in his voice. “Are you constipated again?”

“Why must you always assume I’m afflicted by demons of the gastrointestinal variety?” Owain groans.

“Because you usually are,” he says.

Owain frowns. “One lucky guess does not typically denote _usually.”_

Niles hums. “Whatever you say.”

Owain plucks at the strings on his beloved _Ruinous Rose Devastatron_ and waits for the tension surrounding his obvious dodge to fade from the atmosphere. He’s hardly practicing so much as he’s bonding, familiarizing himself with every plane and curve on his darling guitar, a gift from the highest heavens.

Whatever the burden he carries, whatever Severa says to him, he can express it through the sheer power of _music._ Here he’s a ruler, prince of Niles’s Basement; his stupid troubles are merely soldiers in his service and he commands their every move with hums and chords.

Alas, his troubles are tenacious. They cling to his clothes and threaten to weave themselves through the fabric, chafing his shoulders and thighs until they’re red, raw, and exposed. It’s essential he finds another outlet.

“I’ve heard stories of musicians coming together and allowing the spirit of sound to guide them,” Owain says carefully so as not to arouse suspicion. “The strength of their music comes together to compose an epic symphony, whereas a single player would only create discordant beeps and tones. Perhaps it would be prudent for us to partake?”

Niles raises his brows in a silent question. Owain sighs.

“I believe the plain term is _jamming,”_ he says.

“Oh, of course,” Niles says, “I don’t know why I didn’t get it sooner. My bad.”

Owain ignores this. “Well? What do you think?”

“About what?”

_“Niles!”_ Owain whines. He immediately regrets this slip and coughs in what he hopes is a seamless cover. Niles stays quiet, but the sparkle in his eye betrays him. Owain continues. “A, uh, a jam session.”

“What about it?”

How, in all the worlds, did Niles misunderstand — _oh._

“Your jests cannot fool me, fiend!” He points at Niles. “I am fully aware of your deception, but I will not fall into your trap!”

He sticks his tongue out. Niles cracks.

“Yeah, you caught me,” he forces out between laughs. “Let’s do it, just — just give me a minute.”

Owain allows him this temporary victory; he’ll triumph next time. For now laughter is Niles’s trophy, the tears gathering in the corner of his eye proof of his spoils. Owain can’t help but feel like he didn’t lose much at all.

“Are you prepared?” Owain asks as Niles slowly calms. “The potency of our dark powers combined may be earth shattering, are your affairs in order?”

“Yep,” Niles says, “I’m leaving everything to your mom.”

He ignores this. “Then let us forge onward and shape the most marvelous melody the world has ever seen!”

They don’t do that.

Their potent powers are too much for their untrained bodies; mismatched rhythms and warbling tunes assault their ears. It’s not long before Owain is forced to cease and cradle his suffering head in his palms. He whimpers.

“Wow,” Niles says with a huff of laughter, “We suck ass.”

“Did you pay any attention to the movies we watched last night?” Owain asks, refusing to accept another failure. Niles stares. “It is not _skill_ that’s most important; it’s _attitude.”_

“I keep telling people that,” Niles says, “But they always say my attitude is worse.”

Owain freezes. “What? Are you regularly confronted on your skill?”

Niles smirks.

Owain, still frozen, says, “Which skill?”

Niles’s smirk grows. “Wanna find out?”

Severa’s _smoochville_ speech climbs heavy up his throat. He terminates its endeavor to escape with a swallow. Unable to deny him he says, stiff, “Perhaps another time.”

There’s a stretch of silence where Owain mentally berates himself for his careless slip-up. He can’t bring himself to look at Niles to determine his reaction. Did he take it as a joke? Did he conveniently not hear? Or can he see straight through Owain like he can everybody else?

“Sorry.” Niles’s voice slashes through his spiral. His head jerks up and he finds Niles looking at his own fingers on his bass strings. He continues, his voice awkward and stilted. “Was that too far?”

Words fail him. Half-baked phrases such as _never too far_ and _I don’t know_ and _let’s find out_ float through the haze of his consciousness; his mind is oversaturated with lyrics he can’t indite. So he shrugs.

His lackluster response stirs something sullen within Niles. He closes his eye. “Sorry, I didn’t mean — you know how I am. I say things I don’t mean.”

Somehow that’s worse. Owain struggles to force a weak smile. “It’s okay.” He curses his shaking voice. Traitor.

“It doesn’t trouble me.”

“Don’t lie.”

_It doesn’t trouble me in the way you think,_ he doesn’t say. _Owain Dark has simply found himself swirling with emotion untold and unfamiliar and your words stirred the strange concoction. It is nothing to worry yourself over; I shall contend with my own internal discordance._

It would be a great speech if he had the courage.

Instead he says, “Let us take a moment to sustain our mortal bodies. The proper fuel should clear the murky haze clouding our thoughts and judgement.”

Niles opens his eye and regards him. Owain finds himself a whit stronger than before and his smile grows a little easier, a little more genuine. This seems to settle the invisible demons battling behind Niles’s walls. He chuckles.

“You’re right,” Niles says, “C’mon, I have cookie dough.”

“A feast fit for the gods!” Owain sets _Ruinous Rose Devastatron_ into her case and leaps to his feet. He allows dreams of chocolate chips and brown sugar to push his worries from his mind. “Come, Niles, let us depart on our divine quest!”

Owain bounds up the stairs and inhales, basking in the cool nighttime not-basement air. Niles follows and, when he hears his footsteps near, Owain spins around and extends his arms outward.

“Welcome!” he declares. “Come, step through the portal at the end of the stairs; come toward the light into a radical realm and feel its raw power envelop your soul!”

Niles steps through the portal at the end of the stairs and enters the radical new realm. Then he goes to the kitchen. “I feel enveloped, alright,” he says as he retrieves a package of cookie dough and sets his oven to the specified temperature. “Grab a pan and lay these out, chosen one.”

Owain nods soberly. He will hold his duty to the highest standard or die.

Seventeen minutes later Owain pries a very hot, very flaccid cookie from its fiery bed and burns his fingertips.

“Drat!” he curses, trying again to pick up his dangerously delectable snack. “Why must you fight? I created you, now do as I command and stop — damn — dripping between my fingers!”

It drips between his fingers. Again. By this point his cookie is more like a pile of scorching, gooey crumbs.

“If you keep hurting yourself Leo won’t let us be alone together again,” Niles says. It’s half a joke. “It’ll make it hard to play guitar, too.”

Owain immediately ceases his attempts. “I didn’t consider the possibility,” he mutters.

Niles retrieves a utensil used since time immemorial and wields it with expert precision. With swift movements he slides the flat head of his spatula underneath each individual cookie and transfers them to a separate plate. Owain watches in awe as each morsel remains flat and round from pan to plate and, when Niles has finished his task, Owain applauds.

“Take a cookie, nerd,” Niles says with a huff. He does.

_“Exquisite,”_ Owain says, mouth full of cookie. “Truly, we have outdone ourselves.”

“Mmph,” Niles says. Repressed thoughts stir in the dark shadows of his mind. He shoves them back into the basement where they belong and takes another cookie.

And another.

And another.

He blinks, stunned, at the empty plate Niles sets on the counter. When did they eat all of those? And when did he get so _tired?_ Owain yawns.

“I fear,” he says, “I may have overstayed again.”

“Yeah, I’m —” Niles yawns, too, “— too tired to drive you home. Sorry.”

Owain waves him off. “I have no regrets and neither should you. I’m superbly comfortable taking my dark slumber on your couch.”

“What’s so dark about it?”

Owain doesn’t answer; instead, he walks into the next room and lays down, sinking into the inviting cushions on Niles’s couch. It’s warm, soft, a throne fit for royalty. He acknowledges, his thoughts distant, that he won’t be returning to his own bed for the second night in a row.

“Move over,” Niles says. Owain hardly has the opportunity to register his words before Niles collapses on top of him.

Owain grunts, half in question, half in protest, and half in agreement.

“You’re warm.”

As he drifts into the world of slumber and his mind slows and surrenders to the darkness behind the veil, his last thought is a simple _you, too._

* * *

Owain wakes slow, cozy, and tranquil. For the second morning in a row he’s found himself departing the land of dreams only to return to an unexpected sight. He rubs at his eyes to clear the remaining lurkers clouding his vision and blinks around.

He is, predictably, still in Niles’s house. Again. He dreads to think what his phone notifications look like.

He’ll have to check later, though, because at this moment he’s been rendered immobile by a mysterious weight over his torso and legs. He looks down and finds he’s been pinned to the couch by a familiar sight: Niles rests, relaxed and peaceful, sprawled over him with his head resting on Owain’s chest. Owain runs a hand through his hair, oblivious to the oncoming storm. It’s soft.

But then the oncoming storm isn’t so oncoming; one might even say it’s come.

It hits him in a torrential downpour, soaking his hair, his clothes, and his spirit. He’s heard tales of a love so deep it burrows into your bones and makes a home in your heart, but he’d always been under the impression it was obvious, unquestionable. He’d never considered a reality where the sprites of love would sprinkle their blessing like a layer of dust over his shoulders. He’d never considered a reality where he _didn’t know._

He thought this wasn’t important because it was hopeless. He thought his inconsequential crush would simply pass through the hourglass and blend in with the sand below. Instead it’s trapped at the neck, too large and demanding to filter through. Everything else has slowed to a complete stop. He doesn’t know what to do.

But now that he knows it’s there he can’t ignore it. He looks down at Niles and swallows.

_Is it cheating if Leo isn’t present?_

_Is it cheating if we’re not even together?_

_Is it cheating if they’re not aware of my feelings?_

_Is it cheating if they don’t return my feelings?_

Owain decides he hates this.

“You think too loud,” Niles says.

Owain startles.

“Can you hear my thoughts?” he asks, panicked.

Niles snorts. “Why? Are they dirty?”

Owain sighs in relief. Of course he can’t; that’s at least level six black magic. Owain isn’t even there yet.

“You can share the raunchy details later,” Niles says. He heaves himself off Owain and crawls off the couch. “But for now, coffee.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niles suggesting they make cookies was wish fulfillment. By wish fulfillment I mean after I typed that I got up and made cookies
> 
> Anyway. I feel a little bad leo’s mostly absent this chapter but he had homework he was busy
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer) / [retweet this fic](https://twitter.com/punchyfakegamer/status/1295707099507437577)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you as always to [eth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereally/pseuds/Ethereally/works) for beta reading!!

He’s found himself at a loss for words more often lately. Owain sits on Niles’s laminate counter while Niles fries four eggs as if absolutely nothing happened. His phone is a near-constant buzz of notifications between his group chat with Niles and Leo and his group chat with Severa and Inigo. 

> **Inigo:** Oooh Owain didn’t come hoooome 👀👀👀
> 
> **Severa:** The less I think about that the better
> 
> **Severa:** But I was right. Owain you owe me $20

He does not respond to his group chat with Severa and Inigo.

His group chat with Niles and Leo, however, is a marvel, if only because Niles is somehow responding in the moments Owain looks away. In the past, when Owain has asked Niles how he types so fast when nobody’s looking, Niles has simply responded with _skills._ He has yet to solve this incredible mystery. 

> **Niles:** So?
> 
> **Leo:** What
> 
> **Niles:** Are you coming over for practice later or what
> 
> **Leo:** Oh
> 
> **Leo:** Probably
> 
> **Niles:** Cool that means yes
> 
> **Leo:** I said probably

“It’s ready,” Niles says, snapping Owain’s attention back to him, “Get a plate, I’m not your mom.”

Owain’s brain trails behind when he hops off the counter and retrieves his breakfast, slowly slogging through synonyms and metaphors with meanings he can’t quite dissect. Words like _longing_ and _friendship_ and _home_ take hold of him. He sits heavy at a small table shoved up against the wall. The world around him glows in the soft pink light of dawn. Severa’s teasing echoes in his mind.

He takes a bite. He needs a drink. He doesn’t notice Niles staring at him.

“You’re distracted,” Niles says. Owain startles.

“Uh,” he says gracefully, “Huh?”

Niles narrows his eye. “What’s going on?”

Owain blinks. A lot’s going on. His world has cracked open under his feet and threatens to swallow him whole and he’s found his only regret is Leo isn’t there to fall with him, too. He’s warm and calm and terrified. He’s a lot of things. He doesn’t want to share any of them.

“I’m just tired,” he says when the weight of Niles’s eye on him is too much to bear. 

“You’re tired,” Niles repeats, slow. “After all that good sleep, you’re tired?”

He’s not going to survive under this intense scrutiny. He has to come up with something. Anything.

He comes up with, “Yeah.”

Niles stretches his arms out and sinks down in his chair like a very pleased cat. “That’s unfortunate, I slept better than I have in years.”

Owain pretends like his face didn’t just heat up. “Yeah. Me, too.”

“Were you snatched in your sleep?” Niles asks, a playful sharpness to his words. “Who crawled up your ass and took over your body, Owain?”

Damn. All these thoughts on the purity of love have sullied his dark ways. “It — it’s nothing, my friend,” he tries, “The demons of sleep have yet to leave my shoulder, but I will be freed from their clutches soon enough.”

“Hm.” Niles stuffs a bite of egg into his mouth. “No, that’s not quite right. You’re distracted, I’m nosy. Indulge me.”

“There’s no need to worry yourself,” Owain says, testing out a small laugh at the end. He’s falling back into stride. Perfect. “Perhaps you should prioritize Leo’s evening schedule instead?”

Niles narrows his eyes at Owain’s obvious dodge. “Are you sick?” he asks, voice dangerously slow. “Did you come over to my house while you were _sick?”_

“I would never dream of committing such a betrayal,” Owain gasps.

“What is it, then?” Niles leans in and studies Owain’s face. Owain shifts in his chair. “Are you secretly dying?”

“I’m a perfect state of health,” Owain says. Niles studies his face. Owain doesn’t look away.

“You know you don’t need to keep secrets from me,” Niles nearly purrs. “Tell me, what’s killing you?”

Owain’s phone buzzes on the table. He jumps. Niles smirks.

> **Niles:** Owain’s dying

“When did you —“ Owain starts. Niles cuts him off.

“No more changing the subject,” he says. Owain sighs and accepts this divine retribution. He sends a quick prayer to whatever deity might be listening and tries his damn best.

> **Owain:** I am not.
> 
> **Leo:** What
> 
> **Niles:** I said Owain’s dying
> 
> **Owain:** I said I am not!!!!
> 
> **Leo:** I’m inclined to trust Owain
> 
> **Owain:** Thank you :)
> 
> **Owain:** Your support fills me with gratitude
> 
> **Niles:** He’s tired
> 
> **Owain:** Tired is a perfectly natural state of being!
> 
> **Leo:** Why are you tired
> 
> **Leo:** Did you not sleep? You shouldn’t have practiced last night
> 
> **Owain:** Honing my skills did nothing to affect my slumber. There are times when the darkness of night is hesitant to set me free
> 
> **Niles:** See his whole demon schtick isn’t even as obnoxious as normal. He’s dying
> 
> **Owain:** Hey!
> 
> **Leo:** I’m not letting you practice tonight
> 
> **Owain:** I am perfectly capable of balancing my destiny and my sleep
> 
> **Leo:** Let’s just watch a movie or something. You need to relax
> 
> **Owain:** We’ve gained enough knowledge from the media. We must learn the rest for ourselves
> 
> **Niles:** A movie sounds fucking fantastic
> 
> **Leo:** Great, glad we’ve decided on a movie
> 
> **Owain:** We haven’t decided on anything!
> 
> **Leo:** Owain gets to choose what we watch
> 
> **Owain:** I want to watch us achieve our goals and fulfill our destinies
> 
> **Niles:** I’ve never heard of that one
> 
> **Leo:** Sounds fascinating
> 
> **Owain:** NO!!!!!

“Perfect, I’m glad we’ve got that settled,” Niles says. Owain glares.

“This isn’t over,” he hisses.

“Whatever you say.” Niles stretches his arms over his head. Owain doesn’t look at the sliver of skin visible where his shirt rides up. “When do you wanna go home?”

_Never._

“I am free from the clutches of time,” he says, “If you would ask Owain Dark to leave you in peace, he would comply. If you would ask Owain Dark to hold you under his protection, he would.”

It’s a little much. Niles is unphased.

“Unlike some of us,” he says, “I have work to do. I’ll give you a ride home now.”

He doesn’t let the disappointment show on his face. “As you wish,” Owain says, “Let us embark!”

Niles jokes, he fills in the gaps, they pick up coffee on the way, and with every block between himself and Niles’s house he feels more untethered, aimless, like he’s wandering off course. He’s left his heart behind and it’s calling him back, begging him to stay. It hurts. He doesn’t think about it too hard.

He bids Niles farewell. He ducks around Inigo’s knowing smirk. He takes a shower and collapses into his own cold bed.

* * *

Hours later, Owain finds himself wondering just what is wrong with his room.

He stares at his surroundings and tries to process this new foreign feeling. His crystals are arranged how he left them. The pothos and snake plants in his window are as lively as they were a few days ago. Perhaps his crystals need to moonbathe; he hasn’t been home the last few nights, so he hasn’t set them out to recharge. Perhaps his plants need socialization.

He hears voices from beyond the gateway to his home. He perks up. Perhaps _he_ needs socialization.

“My friends!” he says as he crosses the threshold from his bedroom to the hallway, “How are — wait, where are you going?”

Inigo and Severa turn toward Owain in sync. Severa adjusts her backpack and clears her throat. Inigo looks to her, to Owain, back to her, and back to Owain.

“Sorry, Owain,” Inigo says, “Something came up that requires our immediate attention. Not yours. Just, uh —”

Severa rolls her eyes. “We gotta go. You gotta stay. Don’t let the house burn down. Bye.”

And then they’re gone.

Owain blinks at the space where Inigo and Severa stood just moments ago. It’s not like them to evade questions and bolt. He wants to ask, wants to get to the bottom of this mystery, wants to satiate his need for companionship, but his mortal body demands his attention and his stomach groans.

He’ll ask after Inigo and Severa later; for now he must fuel himself, and perhaps he’ll occupy his mind with work. He microwaves a platter of frozen taquitos. A few minutes later, at his desk in his room surrounded by dirty clothes and arcane trinkets, he pulls up an internet browser and watches anime music videos. It’s research. It’s fine.

With his stomach blissfully full of frozen foods and his mind blissfully empty of thoughts of romance, Owain is able to focus on his very important nefarious task of the day: designing cute acrylic keychains.

A stroke here, an overlay there; it’s not until he’s drawn twelve Yampers in a pile that he notices his phone constantly vibrating. He discards his tablet pen somewhere unseen and eagerly looks to see where the hell Severa and Inigo disappeared to.

> **Leo:** Yes I can come over today

This has nothing to do with Severa and Inigo. That’s fine. He’s in need of social stimulation and he’s doing an _excellent_ job of repressing his problem emotions.

> **Niles:** Finally. You’d think you abandoned us
> 
> **Leo:** It was two days
> 
> **Niles:** Two long, cold days. Awful
> 
> **Leo:** Anyway. I’m ready whenever
> 
> **Niles:** Owain?
> 
> **Niles:** I think he’s pooping
> 
> **Leo:** You always think he’s pooping
> 
> **Leo:** And you know he takes his phone with when he poops
> 
> **Niles:** You raise an excellent point
> 
> **Niles:** He was dying this morning, maybe he died?
> 
> **Leo:** Don’t joke about that
> 
> **Niles:** Who says I’m joking
> 
> **Leo:** OWAIN.
> 
> **Niles:** I bet he’s watching anime
> 
> **Leo:** Just call him
> 
> **Niles:** No u
> 
> **Leo:** Call him!!!!
> 
> **Niles:** Absolutely not
> 
> **Leo:** I called him last time
> 
> **Niles:** I called him the time before that
> 
> **Niles:** Oh wait he’s typing
> 
> **Owain:** You dare summon Owain Dark? State your business, fiends, for I only have a short time before my attention must return to my unholy task.
> 
> **Owain:** [yamperpile.png]
> 
> **Niles:** We forgot to consider Owain’s true calling: drawing anime
> 
> **Owain:** It’s not anime, it’s a video game
> 
> **Niles:** Uh huh
> 
> **Owain:** I mean
> 
> **Owain:** You are mistaken! The fell creature Yamper is from the franchise that thieved the hearts of an entire generation! Pokémon is a fantasy tactical role-playing game franchise developed by Game Freak and published by Nintendo. It reaches beyond anime. With the proper platform, Yamper could be part of an army that takes over the world!
> 
> **Leo:** We know what Pokémon is
> 
> **Owain:** But you’ve distracted Owain Dark from his original purpose. What is it you seek, mortals?
> 
> **Niles:** So should I swing over now, or..?

Owain glances at the clock. He’s been drawing Yampers for hours; soon the sun will fall and he’ll be enveloped by the night. The darkness will give him strength to resist temptation and to hone his skills.

> **Owain:** The hour is upon us!
> 
> **Niles:** Ok be there soon
> 
> **Leo:** bye

Owain hardly finds his tablet pen and returns to his canvas before there’s a knock at the door. He silently admits defeat to the beast of time. He grabs an anime sweatshirt as he runs to the entry.

“My friends!” He exclaims to Niles and an unexpected Leo as he throws the door open and shoves his arm through a sleeve, “You’ve both come! I’m — _hey!’_

His anime sweatshirt is his downfall. He’s tangled in its fabric, rendered defenseless against the brutal onslaught of Niles and Leo pushing him back into his home and shutting the door behind them. The deadbolt clicks. Owain gets his head through the collar and frowns.

“What was that for?” He whines.

“We’re hanging out here tonight,” Leo says, voice final. Owain’s frown deepens.

“Inigo and Severa won’t be back until late,” Niles says.“We have plenty of time.”

“How do you know that?” Owain asks, terrified of his untold knowledge. Niles smirks.

“I gave them fifty bucks to scram,” he says.

“No,” Leo interjects, _“I_ gave them fifty bucks.”

“I gave them fifty bucks and you gave _me_ fifty bucks,” Niles corrects.

“You bribed — the dirty touch of money has sullied our union!” Owain throws his hands in the air. “We’ll never achieve purity!”

“We weren’t gonna do that anyway,” Niles says, his smirk growing wider. Owain looks away.

“Okay, no more of that,” Leo says. Owain slumps in relief. “No more excuses, Owain. I’ve made a decision for all of us. You’re taking the night off.”

“And you?” Owain asks. “Will the two of you neglect your studies?”

Leo opens his mouth to argue. Niles cuts him off.

“No,” he says, “We’re all taking the night off. That’s the decision. Two against one. Let’s go.”

Owain sputters. “We cannot continue skipping practice. Music is our _duty._ I’ve never known the two of you to abandon responsibilities.”

That’s a lie.

“Nobody’s abandoning anything,” Leo says. He grabs Owain by the shoulders, spins him around, and pushes him deeper into his own house. _“You_ haven’t taken a night off since we started.”

“That’s not true,” Owain continues to lie. 

Leo forces him down onto the couch. Owain tries to stand but Leo leans over him, pushing his entire weight into holding him there. Owain swallows.

“You’re gonna break him,” Niles says.

“He’s gonna break himself,” Leo retorts.

Owain thinks it’s gotten a little hot.

Leo’s glare is as piercing as it is commanding; he’s intimidating, fearsome, though not in the way one might expect. Leo has a particular talent for seeing the meaning hidden between veils of prose and metaphor. Leo knows exactly what questions to ask. Leo can see straight through him.

“What is it?” Leo asks. Owain startles.

“Perhaps we can reach a compromise?” Owain says. His voice is much higher than he’d like. “I’m afraid my restless spirit needs release —”

Niles snorts.

“— that standing idle cannot provide.”

Leo’s grip slackens. He stands straight. Owain can breathe freely again. Leo glances toward Niles and says, “Fine, a compromise. What do you suggest?”

Owain hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Um.”

“We had a _great_ cuddle session last night,” Niles says with a smirk, “Leo could get in on the action.”

Leo flushes bright red. “Niles…”

“Just a suggestion.”

“We could write a song!” Owain rushes to say. “A ballad of the ages, a symphony to celebrate our bonds!”

Leo locks eyes with Owain, pointedly not looking at Niles. “A… song.”

“Yes, my dear friend! Leo, the one touched by the sun and the stars, have you forgotten our upcoming performance?”

“Oh.” He blinks. “Right.”

“I can’t believe you’ve already forgotten,” Niles folds his arms and laughs, “Owain’s only been obsessed with this whole thing for the last two weeks. Why did you think we were here? To spend time together?”

“Of course,” Leo says. Something conflicted crosses his face before he covers it again with his impassive mask. “Yeah. A song.”

“It’s only natural to be so consumed by your craft you forget your motivation,” Owain says. Leo doesn’t look reassured. “Do not worry yourself! I won’t let you forget.”

“I never thought you would,” Leo sighs.

Niles raises his hand.

“Yes, Niles?” Owain asks.

“Do you know anything at all about songwriting?” Niles asks.

Owain stops to think for a moment. Niles and Leo both watch him patiently. He wracks his brain for an answer, thinks back to various instructional videos he’s watched on the topic. He finds nothing. Their eyes demand an answer.

“Nope!” He finally decides.

“Perfect,” Niles says, “Once again none of us have any fucking idea what we’re doing. Just how I like it.”

“We’ve all listened to music before,” Owain says, “We know what it’s like.”

“Right. That’s definitely enough knowledge to go off of.”

Leo buries his face in his hands. “Not this again,” he groans.

“Have faith!” Owain extends his arms outward. “We’ve done so well thus far. We must forge onward!”

Everybody politely decides not to mention they fucking suck.

“I bet he’s right,” Niles says.

“Okay. Fine.” Leo collapses on the couch next to Owain. Owain pulls his arms back against his own body so they’re not crushed under Leo’s. “What are we writing a song about, then?”

“Dark magic!” Owain says at the same time Niles says, “Sex.”

Leo looks between them. “No.”

“...Light magic?” Owain tries.

Leo shakes his head. Owain looks to the ceiling for inspiration. It comes to him, a tidal wave knocking him down and shoving seafoam up his nose. The ocean of inspiration parts before him. He gasps.

“Are you okay?” Niles asks. 

“WAIT HERE, I HAVE AN IDEA!” He shouts. He sprints to his room, throws the clutter out of his way until he finds his supplies, and by the time he returns to the living room he’s sweating and panting for air. Leo raises an eyebrow. Owain will not be distracted.

He falls to his knees and drops everything on the floor: well worn jeans, partially burned candles, cool rocks, and the most important tool of them all.

“Cards..? Again?” Leo asks. Owain chuckles.

“These are not simple cards,” he explains as he folds his perfectly aged jeans into a mat and carefully arranges the candles and crystals, “These are tarot cards, illustrated by the nefarious Kagero! With her demonic art and my own divine sight, these cards will guide the way to the perfect song.”

They’re stunned into impressed silence. He continues.

“It’s quite simple.” He cuts the deck and shuffles the stacks together on top of his jeans. “We all pour our hearts into the cards; ask your question with your entire body and soul. You must feel your desires and clearly visualize your goals. Niles?”

Owain holds the deck out. Niles stares.

“Niles..?”

“What?” Niles asks, looking from Owain to the cards in front of him. “What am I supposed to do?”

Owain tries to keep the disappointment off his face. “You’re supposed to cut the deck,” he explains. “We’ve done this before. You should know how it works by now.”

“Of course,” he says easily, “I don’t know what came over me.”

Niles halves the deck with no thought or intention. Owain returns the deck to the way it was and glowers at him.

“It’s as if you’ve never been present for a reading before,” Owain says. “You have to feel your question. Push it all the way to your fingertips and let it guide you to the answer. This — this _haphazard_ method will yield no results.”

“Just do me first,” Leo says. Owain twists to face Leo and grins.

“Of course!” He says. “A demonstration will revive Niles’s lost memories. Please, Leo, let the deck guide you.”

Leo leans forward and pauses with his hand over the cards. His brow furrows. Owain positively vibrates in anticipation. Leo’s question, his intentions and desires, are written clearly on his face. The power in the cards guides his hand closer. 

When he cuts the deck Owain can feel the spirits cheer.

“A flawless decision!” Owain shuffles the cards a few more times. “Thank you, Leo, your contribution is invaluable.”

Leo huffs his agreement. Owain lifts his eyes to Niles.

“Have you remembered the arcane arts I’ve taught you dozens of times?” Owain asks, voice dry. 

“Yep,” Niles says.

“That’s it?” Owain asks, “You’ve recalled divine skills and your answer is ‘yep’?”

“Yep,” Niles says.

Owain writes this off as a lost cause. He holds the deck out toward Niles again. “Prove your skill.”

Again, Niles carelessly halves the deck.

“Niles —“

“I work fast,” he cuts Owain off, “It’s fine. Keep going.”

Doubtful. Owain channels Niles’s question for him, shuffles one more time, and finally cuts the deck himself. He can feel the power raging in his blood. This is it.

“Spirits of the night,” he says, suitably dramatic, “Guide my hand! What is our song?”

He sets the top card face down on his pants. Then another. Then another. He returns the rest of the deck to its box and retrieves the handy guidebook included with purchase. He lost some of the dramatic effect with his moving about but he doesn’t have time to recharge the atmosphere; destiny is calling, and he’s answering the phone. He flips the first card.

At the top of the card, written in crisp black ink, is the numeral _IV._ Foundation. Structure. Boring. 

The art, a black and white ink illustration that invokes terror and dread inherent to Kagero’s art style, portrays a ghastly figure silhouetted by a deadly mountain pass. Four swords stick out of the ground, forming a square around the figure. He consults the guide book: they’ve survived through the pain and suffering of the threes. The stability of those four walls will grant them peace. In order to move forward they must look within.

“What’s that one mean?” Niles asks.

“Have patience.” Owain prepares to flip the next card. “We need all three to paint the full picture.”

It’s inverted. The numeral _VII_ leers at him from upside-down. The sevens are tricky when conditions are perfect; their existence is spoken of in fairytales and superstition, but few truly understand their slippery nature. They’re even more mysterious when inverted. An illustrated figure flees the card, dropping their seven swords in their haste. Whether they’re a deviant thief or simply at play, the inversion forces them to resort to dirty tactics such as lying and deception. The guide book suggests he come clean about his troubles. Owain ignores the guilt stirring in his gut.

“Why’s that one upside-down?” Niles asks. Owain ignores him.

The third and final card is inverted as well. He breathes a sigh of relief that the cards aren’t assaulting him with more swords, but the reversed knight atop his reversed steed carrying his reversed cup threatens to spill his secrets all over the floor.

It’s not uncommon for tarot cards to brutally tear apart the reader. He still doesn’t appreciate it.

According to the guide book, the knight of cups is ruled by his heart and allows it to guide him through life. Inverted, it warns of falling victim to heated emotions. Mistakes will be made if decisions are not thought through and he’s unable to control his feelings.

Cool!

“Well?” Niles asks. Owain struggles to put together a narrative that doesn’t lay his entire library of uncontrolled emotions on display.

“Well,” Owain replies. He drags the word out. “Um, this first card suggests we build a strong foundation; we must research the structure of song and allow those who have already passed through those trials to guide our hands.”

“That sounds like a great start, I like that card,” Leo says. He means it.

“Why’s this guy dropping his swords?” Niles asks, pointing at the next card.

“This one,” Owain gestures to the inverted seven of swords, “Has been forced to resort to dirty tactics to win.”

“Are you suggesting we steal someone else’s song?” Leo asks, amused. 

“No,” Owain says, “The cards are suggesting we make our song about someone forced into a corner. They would do anything to survive. This final card,” he continues, “Is ruled by the heart. His heated emotions lead him to make mistakes.”

Niles whistles. “That’s one depressing song.”

“Yes,” Owain says as he mentally arranges the cards to tell a story of sorrow and regret. A terrible tale where he takes the sacred foundation of friendship and tears it apart with his lies and excuses to simply be closer. One where his uncontrolled emotions tear everything away from him. “I’m concerned they may have targeted me, instead.”

Silence. Owain realizes he said that out loud.

“I mean,” he clears his throat and raises his voice in the hopes that he may drown out his previous blunder, “With a destiny as entrenched in darkness and mystery as ours, it’s only fitting our creation be just as hopeless.”

More silence. Leo clears his throat.

“Owain,” he says, slow, “Is there anything you’d like to talk about? Are you okay?”

Even Niles is waiting, his own question implied. Step one of destroying his friendships is complete.

“N-no,” Owain says, “I apologize, it seems the specters guiding my hand took control for a moment. Please disregard whatever it is I just said. I was not fully in control.”

Leo doesn’t buy it. He narrows his eyes. Owain leaps into action.

“Allow me to clean up here,” he shouts as if he can dissolve the tension through sound alone. He haphazardly gathers his cards and rocks and dashes to his room and dumps them on his bed. He’ll worry about that later. He takes a second trip to retrieve his candles. He kneels in front of the first one, licks the pad of his thumb and forefinger, and endeavors to pinch the flame. It’s hot. He can’t. Niles takes pity on him and smothers the candles one by one.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Why don’t you just blow them out?” Niles asks.

Owain shakes his head. “Blowing out a flame is disrespectful to the divine beings that guide us. We must either smother the flame or allow it to burn out on its own.”

He returns the candles to their rightful place on his desk. His third and final trip is for his pants. In the privacy of his room he curses their denim for their betrayal. He’s shown these jeans nothing but love and care for the many years they’ve been partnered, and they repay him with pain and humiliation.

But his pants know him better than anyone else. He’ll have to deal with that later. He gathers a fresh faux leather-bound journal and several colored pens and finally returns to Niles and Leo to complete their initial task. Leo raises an eyebrow at his supplies.

“Is that a Naruto journal?” he asks.

Owain glances at the cover. Sasuke Uchiha glances back. “Yes,” he says, “The wisdom of the ninja —”

“Nope, no more of that,” Niles interrupts. “What’s all this stuff?”

“Supplies,” Owain explains. “We can use the different colors to organize our thoughts, and we can write everything down in this journal for later perusal.”

Leo climbs down to the floor from the couch and sits cross-legged with them. Owain opens the journal and readies his pen. They all lean in together.

A pause.

“...What now?” Niles asks.

A pause.

“We write a song,” Owain answers.

A pause.

“This is still a terrible idea,” Leo says.

A pause.

“The spirits wouldn’t deceive me,” Owain says. He writes that down in green. “See? They already speak through me. We’ll finish before the night’s end.”

* * *

They don’t finish before the night’s end.

Owain doesn’t remember crawling back onto the couch. He doesn’t remember leaning against Leo’s shoulder, and he doesn’t remember Niles leaning against his. He doesn’t remember the warmth he felt as they all drifted to sleep.

He doesn’t remember hearing Severa or Inigo return.

 _“Ugh!_ Get a room!”

A groan to the right.

“Owain’s room is right there,” the same voice says, “Was it really necessary to sleep on the couch? We live here, too.”

A scratchy voice to the left. “You’re welcome to join us.”

A commotion. A weight is lifted from his left side. An _oof!_ from below. A pinch to his nose blocks his airways.

“What — _ah!”_ Owain shakes his head. He opens his eyes to Severa’s judgemental glare taking up his vision and her judgemental fingers blocking his nasal passages. “What was that for?”

“For making me listen to _that_ at 8am,” she snaps, pointing at Niles chuckling on the floor. 

“Ah.” Wait. “My apologies, Severa! We were consumed by our sacred craft, the demons of sleep must have claimed us while we were distracted.”

Severa knows. She _knows._ She smirks a _knowing_ smirk. Raises a knowing eyebrow. 

“Right,” she says, slow, “Your _sacred craft._ What’s more sacred than making ou —”

Owain launches forward and tackles her to the ground. She struggles against him. He covers her mouth with his hand. Inigo laughs from somewhere behind him.

“Niles! Leo!” Owain shouts. He hopes his voice covers whatever Severa is trying to say around his palm. “You have other engagements, yes? An employer? The pursuit of knowledge?”

“Yeah,” Niles says, voice shaking with laughter.

“Owain —” Leo begins. Owain cuts him off.

“It is quite — _oof!”_ Severa elbows him in the gut. He forges on. “It is quite unfortunate the daylight must — _ngh!_ — must steal away my prized companions. I bid you farewell!”

A pause.

“Owain…” Leo says.

“I have plenty of time,” Niles says. 

The circumstances are not progressing in his favor. Severa lands a well-placed kick and he’s forced off her and onto his back on the floor. Leo and Niles aren’t leaving. Inigo’s laughter is somehow growing _louder._

Owain feels hot.

“Yes, farewell.” Owain stands and brushes down the front of his shirt. His knees are shaking. He needs to escape before he collapses. “Um, have a lovely day. I must leave.”

He catches a glimpse of Leo’s pained expression and Niles’s vague confusion before he rushes from the living room and into the safety of his bedroom. He flinches as he slams the door shut behind him.

That was disastrous.

He looks around for something, _anything_ to distract himself. He finds his tarot cards on the bed and scrambles to pull them out of their box. He shuffles once. A card falls out and lands face-up on the mattress.

Laying perfectly upside-down in front of him is another, excuse his profanity, _fucking_ swords card. The king of swords reclines on his throne. The ink paints a haunting picture of a powerful ruler wielding a sword empowered by authority and truth. 

Inverted, at his worst, the king of swords rips off his mask to reveal the terrible monster underneath. His usual power in thoughts and words twists in on itself to hurt and deceive; with these abilities he persuades and manipulates those around him for his own selfish aims.

Distantly, he hears Niles and Leo bid goodbye to Inigo and Severa. The front door shuts. Good. They shouldn’t be around him.

Owain must heed the warning presented by his cards. He must be silent and selfless, honest and bare. The thought terrifies him. He needs time.

They have two and a half months until it’s time to reach the climax of their journey. He’ll utilize every moment until then to control his thoughts and emotions and, when it’s finally time to reconvene, his fortress will be so impenetrable even he won’t be able to tear down his walls and destroy those outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really difficult for me and took way longer than I would have liked to complete. I got really caught up in my own skill level. Thank you so soooo much to Lily and Tansy for looking over my writing and giving me suggestions on where I can improve, that gave me the direction I needed to finish!
> 
> My beloved beta reader has asked me to illustrate yamperpile.png so look out for that I guess????
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer) | [RT this fic!](https://twitter.com/punchyfakegamer/status/1303071665958662151)


	5. Chapter 5

“I cannot possibly tell you,” Inigo says with a blank face, “How much I’m sick of hearing about this.”

“I’m poison,” Owain continues as if he was never interrupted, “I destroy everything I touch, twist it to suit my own goals. I wanted to use my divine gifts to fight evil, but instead I’ve become that which I sought to destroy.”

Inigo doesn’t respond. Neither does Severa.

“Just say the word,” he says, “And I will retreat into the shadows. I will allow your lives to blossom once more, unsullied by my dirty hand.”

“Don’t do that,” Inigo says, voice flat. Emotion and guilt claw up Owain’s throat.

“I apologize,” Owain chokes out, “I’ve tricked you, as well.”

“Holy _fuck,_ dude.” Severa takes a bite from her apple. “Stop.”

Owain folds his arms on the coffee table and lays his head down in defeat. “Sorry.”

“I said _stop.”_

“But —”

“I’m not your therapist, dude,” Severa says, gesturing wildly with her apple, “Call your mom or something.”

“Do you honestly think,” Inigo says, “They paid us to leave for the _entire night_ because they didn’t want to be alone with you?”

Owain melts. The toxic sludge that is his personality oozes all around him. “I know,” he says, “I’m aware of the way I manipulated them into wasting their precious time with me.”

“Okay, nope, I’m done.” Severa takes a final bite of her apple and whips the core into the trash before continuing. “My brain is gonna melt out of my ears if I keep listening to this. Good luck with whatever the fuck this is.”

Severa stomps out of the room and a moment later her bedroom door slams shut. The muffled sound of Blink-182 fills the silent air. Owain sighs in relief or disappointment, he’s not sure which.

“It’s only a matter of time before I push everyone away,” he says.

“Nah,” Inigo says.

“Open your eyes, my friend,” Owain says, “I’m contaminating you, your untimely demise is on the horizon.”

“Your atrocious vibes are contaminating this house,” Inigo says.

Owain nods. “I’m glad you’re finally able to see.”

“Great,” Inigo says. “So, what are you gonna do about practice?”

A hollow pit in Owain’s stomach grows. “I told them we should try and practice solo for awhile,” he says.

“And what did they say about that?”

Owain picks his phone up and navigates to his group chat with Leo and Niles. He has to scroll for eons to find his most recent correspondence. 

> **Owain:** I apologize for my sudden departure. I’ve reflected on our growth as a band and I believe we must focus on individual development for the time being. When we reunite we may share our new skills.
> 
> **Leo:** What? No
> 
> **Owain:** We seem to have reached a wall that we each must scale in our own time.
> 
> **Leo:** No. Definitely not
> 
> **Owain:** Why do you object?
> 
> **Leo:** Because you’re being ridiculous. This suggestion is ridiculous.
> 
> **Niles:** Wanna tell us what’s actually going on?

Owain returns his phone to the floor. He can’t reread the two of them attempting to convince him to return while he desperately forces space. He hasn’t responded to their group chat since.

“You know they can see straight through you,” Inigo says, “Right?”

“Good,” Owain says.

Inigo shouts in frustration. “I _hate_ when you’re mopey!”

Owain frowns. Maybe. He may have already been frowning. “I’m not mopey.”

“You’re moping right now,” Inigo says, “You’re moping all over my house.”

“Owain Dark never mopes,” Owain says, “He just gets sad sometimes. Also, this is my house, too!”

“What about your alter ego?” Inigo asks, “Your bandsona, Odin Dark. Does _he_ mope?”

Owain forces a scoff. “Odin Dark has been relegated to the shadows. He will emerge only when Owain Dark can control him.”

“Can I get a timeline?”

Owain shrugs. “However long it takes. I must regain my strength after —”

“Because, and I cannot emphasize this enough,” Inigo says, “I’m like, _really_ sick of this.”

Owain looks at his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Inigo continues, “You keep apologizing and moping and whining. Two weeks, Owain! I’m exhausted.”

Owain lays his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re gonna make me go gray.”

Owain tries to become one with his palms, to fuse his knuckles to his skull. “I’m sorry.”

A hand yanks at Owain’s hair and pulls his head up. Inigo forces him to stare straight into his hateful, hateful eyes.

“I’m going to say this _one last time,”_ Inigo says, slowly enunciating every word, “You need to _tell them how you feel.”_

Owain tries to look away. Inigo pulls at his hair again. He forces himself to make eye contact.

“I can’t,” he says. Begs. His voice cracks. “My words will force them to face their guilt over rejecting me. What if they confess a false love out of pity?”

“They definitely like you back,” Inigo says, face blank.

Owain scoffs. “You’re foolish.”

Inigo sighs and lets go of Owain’s hair. Owain sits up in his chair as best he can. Inigo crosses his arms and says, “You keep telling me to hit on Xander. Why don’t you just take your own advice?”

“That’s different,” Owain says, “Xander likes you.”

It strikes Owain just how old Inigo looks in this moment. “I hate you,” Inigo says with all the exhaustion of someone thrice his age, “So much.”

A moment of silence passes. Inigo gets even _older._ There’s bags under his eyes that weren’t there a month ago and an exhaustion in his shoulders pulling him down into hell. Owain feels a stab of guilt.

“What do your stupid cards say about all this?” Inigo asks. Owain jerks out of his thoughts. Truth be told, he hasn’t checked his cards, but he knows what they’d say.

“That I suck,” he mutters.

“I highly doubt your cards said you suck,” Inigo says.

“They said I suck,” Owain insists.

“Have you asked your rocks, then?” Inigo asks. 

Owain forgets his troubles for just a moment when he asks, “What? You can’t ask rocks questions, Inigo.”

Inigo struggles to smother a snort. “Just thought I’d ask,” he says.

Owain’s phone buzzes in roaring tones on the floor next to him. He stares at its traitorous screen. Leo’s name reads clearly at the top of the notification, then his phone buzzes again and Niles’s name shows instead. He doesn’t read the messages.

This is good. This is the correct path. It’s difficult, but Owain Dark is accustomed to the most difficult of challenges. He chose the midnight path festering with demons tempting him over the edge, and he will continue to choose the midnight path rather than topple into temptation.

“Hey, Owain,” Inigo says. Owain startles. “I’m gonna suggest something wild.”

A thousand theories run through Owain’s brain at once. “An exchange program that forces me to leave the country for several years, putting great distance between myself and those I’ve hurt?” he tries.

“No,” Inigo says.

“I should look into that,” Owain mutters to himself.

“No,” Inigo says, “You should talk to your mom. She’s not sick of you yet.”

The thought of Lissa’s wrath freezes him to his seat. He shakes his head. “My mother will yell at me.”

“Yeah, because this is stupid,” Inigo says.

Inigo has a point, though, even if his application is dubious. Owain considers everyone else he knows. “I could talk to Yarne.”

Inigo scoffs. “You are _not_ about to go talk to the second worst catastrophizing person I know.”

Owain thinks for a moment and says, “Who’s the first?”

“You.”

Owain ignores that. “I shouldn’t bother him, anyway.”

Then, because Inigo’s the worst, he pulls out his phone and says, “I’m calling your mom.”

Owain jumps to his feet, the promise of Lissa’s fury lighting a hellfire under his ass. “No, please, don’t do that.”

“I’m gonna do it,” Inigo says. He stands and forces Owain to sit back down. “And you can’t stop me.”

Owain fights it. Really. He extends a hand and lets it fall and stares forlornly as Inigo scrolls through his contacts and leaves the room. He can’t hear the conversation over Severa’s Punk’s Not Dead, It Just Went Pop! playlist, but he knows it’s nothing good.

Inigo emerges from the other room after a few minutes. Owain peeks at him over his shoulder.

“Your mom’s coming to pick you up,” Inigo says. “She said she’ll be here in a half hour. Put some pants on.”

Owain looks down at his Naruto boxer briefs. Then he realizes what Inigo just said.

_“What?!”_ he leaps to his feet and searches Inigo’s face for jest or deception. He finds none. “You actually did that? Why did you do that?!”

“I told you I was gonna do it,” Inigo says. 

Owain stares. He silently pleas for this to be some terrible nightmare, that his own mother isn’t on her way to his house to give him a thorough talking to. If she finds out how long he’s been living in secrecy…

He shoves Inigo aside and runs past him to his room. He pulls on the first pair of jeans he finds and one of his two shirts that doesn’t feature an anime character. The beast of time works against him, however, and he’s hardly running a comb through his hair when he hears it.

The knock.

Owain swallows.

Inigo throws his bedroom door open. “Oh look, your mother’s here! Better put your shoes on and answer the door!” He grabs Owain’s hand and drags him out of his room and down the hall. “Here, I’d love to say hello as well.”

Owain stumbles into his laceless shoes. He barely has the back pulled over his heel when he answers the door, a proper greeting on his tongue, only for the words to turn to sludge and drip to the floor.

This is not his mother.

Leo stands, arms crossed, one step down from Owain on the front stoop. He looks _exhausted._ He’s dressed in the sloppiest clothes Owain has ever seen him wear and his hair sticks up all over the place. Leo’s eyes pierce through his own weary veil, however, and strike through Owain’s walls and into his heart. He lurches back from the sheer force.

“I — uh —” Owain shoots a glare over his shoulder toward Inigo. Inigo is unfazed. “Sorry, uh, you shouldn’t have to deal with this. Sorry.”

Leo’s mouth opens. He doesn’t let him speak.

“You can leave, I — I’ll figure this out —”

Then a lot happens at once.

There’s a shove from behind. Inigo catches Owain mid-step and pushes him through the open door. Leo lifts his arms to steady Owain. Owain tries to step back again. Inigo slams the door shut, hitting Owain square in the ass and pushing him forward directly into Leo’s chest. There’s a slide and a click of the deadbolt. 

Owain’s entire lanky body has fallen against Leo’s significantly shorter body. He doesn’t have his keys. He’s very, very warm.

His brain struggles to catch up. Words form and dissipate and Leo doesn’t even acknowledge his attempts. Leo’s hand wraps around his and he’s forced to follow Leo to his car. 

“This is excessive,” Owain protests. Leo opens the passenger door and guides Owain to sit down. When Owain doesn’t buckle himself in he leans over and pulls the seatbelt over his chest. Owain’s getting desperate. “Really, my torment is not your concern. Free yourself —”

Leo stands and shuts the door. Owain attempts his great escape. He’s foiled by his nemesis, the _child lock._ Leo gets in the driver’s seat and glowers at Owain.

“Don’t even think about trying to escape.”

Owain swallows. “You’re making a grave error, Leo.”

Leo’s fury seems to fill the car and blaze around them. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, “Thanks.”

Owain doesn’t dare move.

The drive passes in tense silence, the car barely advancing toward their destination. Owain’s heart drags behind them on the pavement. Each bump jolts his gut with fresh anxiety and each time he thinks Leo glances over his entire body stiffens. 

He should’ve known retreating into the shadows wouldn’t be the easy choice. He’s upset the tenuous balance their friendship had, weighting one side into the realm of terrible foes in his endeavor to distance himself from the opposite. The scale rattles as Leo turns into Niles’s driveway, barely reaching equilibrium for just a moment before returning to its unbalanced state again. 

Niles’s car isn’t there. Leo parks and gives Owain a clear commanding look. Owain unbuckles his seatbelt, Leo releases the child lock, and Owain falls flat on his face in his rush to escape Leo’s fire.

“Get up,” Leo says. Owain clambers to his feet. “Niles gave me a key, we’re going inside and getting started with practice. He’ll be back later.”

Owain looks at the ground. “Okay.”

“And we’re talking about this whole…” Leo sighs. _“Thing_ you’ve been doing.”

That _thing_ taints his soul with untold dread. Owain realizes he’s going to die. He accepts his fate.

Leo unlocks the door and steps inside. Owain crosses the threshold, returning to desecrate Niles’s forbidden sanctum with his terrible deeds. He deserves this. He deserves his retribution. He will endure whatever Leo and Niles decide is just if it means things will go back to normal.

His heart lurches at the thought of _normal._ He squashes that thought underneath his laceless sneakers.

Leo silently leads him down the basement stairs, back to where he poisoned them all in the first place. The inverted King of Swords leers at him from a pile of snacks. His fate rests between Leo’s hands and the tip of the king’s sword. He wonders how sharp it is.

Leo points at the ground. Owain, feeling like a scolded puppy, sits.

“What the hell?” Leo asks. He normally barely comes up to Owain’s chin, but right now he towers over Owain.

“Sorry,” Owain says, voice and spirit both small.

“No, Owain,” Leo crosses his arms and begins pacing back and forth. “You have to tell me what’s going on. I can’t read your mind.”

Owain can’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound terribly manipulative. He settles on, “Sorry.”

Leo stops pacing, turns his entire body toward Owain, and points directly at him. “Do _not_ make me ask Niles to come back early. You _know_ he can get answers.”

Owain was once on the receiving end of Niles’s harrowing interrogations and doesn’t wish to repeat the experience. Between the thorough scolding and this terrifying threat it all spills out.

“I — I just realized I’ve been taking advantage of your loyalty,” he hurries to explain. “That wasn’t okay. I tricked you! Both of you!”

Leo’s brow furrows in confusion. “What?”

“Manipulating you into this band for my own selfish gain was unkind and unfair,” Owain continues, “Now you’re trapped with me and I’m dragging you down. I didn’t know what else to do to save your souls.”

Leo doesn’t look any less confused. “That isn’t what happened at all,” he says.

Owain’s heart shatters in his ribs. The shards litter the floor, a trap meant to cut the shit out of the bottoms of their feet. Another trick to keep them near. He buries his face in his hands.

“Oh no, I manipulated you into thinking this was your choice…”

There’s a sigh and the sound of Leo sitting down in front of him. Leo wraps his hands around Owain’s wrists and pulls his hands away. He lets him.

“I don’t know how to convince you that’s not the case,” Leo says in the softest voice he’s ever heard Leo use. He’s _changing_ them. Disgusting.

“Sorry,” Owain whispers.

“Just trust me, okay?” Leo continues. Owain can’t. He can’t even trust himself. _“Just trust me.”_

“Okay,” Owain lies.

“You’re pushy, sure, but you know how to have fun.” Leo runs his thumb up and down Owain’s wrists. Owain fights back tears. “That’s a good thing. That’s why I agreed to join this stupid, awful band, even though I really do hate it.”

“Okay,” Owain lies again.

Leo lightly squeezes his wrists. “You didn’t manipulate anybody.”

“Okay,” Owain lies again and again and again.

A heavy sigh. “You don’t believe me.”

Owain can’t think of what to say. “Okay.”

“No wonder Inigo was so desperate to get you out of the house.”

Inigo’s betrayal reopens like a fresh wound. “He called you secretly?” Owain asks despite knowing damn well Inigo called him secretly.

“Yes,” Leo says, “That’s why I showed up, and not your mother.”

Owain sniffs. He hadn’t realized he’d been crying. “Sorry.”

Leo breaks. He throws his head back and groans.

“Oohh, spicy noises,” Niles’s voice cuts through the tension. Owain hadn’t heard him come home. “I know we’re all excited to see Owain again, but you really couldn’t wait for me?”

Owain’s filled with a disorienting shame. He’s being assaulted from all sides: his regret for destroying his two dear friends, and now his guilt for causing Niles pain. It crashes around him, pulls him out to the sea of hell to drown him in pain and horror.

“Sorry,” he whispers, more to himself than anyone else.

“He’s been like this the whole time,” Leo says, his voice stronger.

“Hm.” Niles sits on the floor, next to Leo and across from Owain. “Maybe we should loosen him up.”

“That’ll break him,” Leo says, “Look at him.”

“Sorry,” Owain whispers even quieter.

They don’t respond. Owain looks up and bears witness to their own unbreakable bond. They communicate with only their eyes, barely expressing emotions, creating secret telepathic plans to lead him astray, just as he led them. It’s alarming how wicked they’ve become under his influence.

“Well,” Niles says after awhile, “Let’s practice.”

Owain wasn’t expecting that. Neither was Leo.

“How will that fix anything?” Leo asks, incredulous.

“It’ll get him to stop talking,” Niles says, jerking a thumb toward Owain.

Owain swallows. “Sorry.”

“It’ll get him to stop fucking apologizing, too.” Niles turns his head toward Owain and smirks. “Unless you wanna busy your mouth with something else?”

An image of Niles sweating and panting floats through his mind. He squeezes his eyes shut. It won’t go away.

“Sorry,” Owain squeaks out.

“Yes, great, practice,” Leo says. Owain squeezes his eyes shut tighter as Leo’s own image enters his loathsome fantasy. “Fine. Practice. Owain, get up. Get your guitar.”

Owain forces himself to reach as far as he can to grab his beautiful muse. His movements are jerky, but she’s as smooth as ever. She feels natural in his hands. He slides his fingers over the strings and quickly discovers that, while the guitar is perfectly comfortable, his own hands are terribly weak and clumsy. No melody emerges; only disconnected notes, reflecting his own disconnected thoughts.

Niles leans in. Owain gets warm. He’s beginning to wonder if these two were the dark spirits all along, guiding him down a dark path. They certainly act like it.

“You’re no good at practicing on your own,” Niles says.

Owain sighs and sets his guitar down. “My divine instrument was here, practice was impossible without it.”

“No shit,” Niles says.

“We could’ve brought it to you,” Leo says. 

Owain feels crushed under the weight of such a selfless offer. “I didn’t want to be a burden,” he admits.

“Who said you were a _burden?”_ Leo says with more force than before. Owain winces.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Owain,” Niles says. Owain reluctantly makes eye contact. Niles can see right through his carefully crafted defenses and he feels _raw._ “You’re being ridiculous.”

“But —”

Leo cuts him off, nearly screaming. “He thinks he manipulated us into joining this band.” He takes a deep breath and continues, calmer. “He thinks he’s this terrible, evil person, and that we’d be better off without him.”

There it is. Leo said it, and Leo can read people like their bodies and minds have been laid open for him to browse at his leisure. Owain awaits his judgement.

Niles sighs. “That’s some of the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

Somehow the judgement cuts deeper than he expected. “Sorry,” Owain squeaks.

“I swear, if you apologize one more time I’m gonna lose it.”

Owain doesn’t apologize. He does his best to not look sad so he doesn’t guilt his friends into being his friends.

Niles interrupts his perfect act. “Do you think we secretly hate you?”

“No,” Owain says. That’s the _problem._

“Because we did.”

Owain swallows. _That_ particular conversation is something he tries not to reflect on. “I know.”

“But we don’t know.”

“I’m sorry for tricking you —”

Leo cuts him off. “Nope,” he says. He sets his drumsticks down. “No more of that.”

“Neither of us wants to be in this band,” Niles says. Owain _knows._ Why do they force him to stay in their presence and say these things? “We just want to spend time with you, dork. If this is the way to do it then we’ll take it.”

Owain holds back a scoff. “Why would you possibly want that?”

“Because we _like you?”_ Niles says incredulously.

Owain looks away again. He pities them. “You fools.”

Leo falls backward off his seat and onto the floor with a violent groan. “Do you listen when other people talk to you?!” he cries from the floor.

“Unfortunately yes,” he mutters. Niles snorts. Owain fails to see the humor in the situation.

Leo rolls onto his sides and points at Owain through the legs of his drum set. “We enjoy spending time with you. Stop it. If we have to drop this stupid band to prove it to you then we drop this stupid band.”

Something about the fiery burn of Leo’s words and the composition of his face around the cymbal stand cracks Owain’s resolve. He takes a shaky breath. He hopes he doesn’t regret this later.

“Do you mean it?” he asks. 

Niles ruffles his hair. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he leans into the touch. “What part about we like you was unclear?” Niles asks.

“I…” Owain swallows. “I suppose, your words may be truthful. They seem to come from the heart.”

“Good boy.”

“Do you want to quit the band?” Leo asks. Owain glances up.

“No,” he admits.

“Good, because we’re outside the return policy.”

Owain stares down at his guitar. It’s still the same work of art, the same divine providence that called to him in that store all those weeks ago. It fills him with an unlikely hope. He isn’t deserving of the rays of sun peeking over the dark horizon, but he can’t stop himself from reaching forward and holding it all close to his chest. Owain Dark carries the burden of horror everywhere he goes, but perhaps Niles and Leo can be his guiding stars, calling him home at the end of a long journey to hell and back. The thought fills him with something warm.

“Did you know,” Niles says out of nowhere, snapping Owain back to his basement, “That the human body contains 197.2 ounces of blood on average?”

Niles’s words somehow loosen the strain of the last two weeks. Owain can feel himself breaking. The last binds of his resolve are snapping.

“Of course you just know that,” Leo says. “Where did that even come from?”

Owain swallows.

“Everybody knows that,” Niles says. “Right, Owain?”

He snaps.

“One hundred and ninety-seven point two ounces of blood on the wall,” the melody spills out of his mouth like a divine prophecy, “One hundred and ninety-seven point two ounces of blood…”

Niles bursts out in laughter and claps Owain on the back.

“There he is,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Let’s go. We’re back in business.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIGHS BIGLY AND LAYS FLATLY ON THE FLOORLY
> 
> sorry for the long gap between updates, my life lit on fire! yeehaw
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


	6. Chapter 6

A month passes. They continue to practice in Niles’s basement, playing hellish tunes crafted by the Devil himself until the early morning night after night, Niles and Leo grow closer, Owain grows closer to death.

“Oh, yeah,” Niles nods, confident, “We’re gonna nail this.”

“Don’t even say that.” Leo taps a cymbal with his drumstick. “Don’t get my hopes up.”

“Our moment grows near!” Owain grins. “I’m so excited!”

“Great. Can’t wait.” Leo suppresses a yawn and Owain realizes how tired he looks; he isn’t carrying himself with his typical confidence and his already pale skin looks almost sickly. Owain frowns.

“You seem fatigued,” Owain says.

“Hm, he does,” Niles says, “Did we keep you up too late last night?”

Leo flushes. 

“Are you feverish?” Owain asks, “Does pestilence hang heavy in your shadow?”

Niles snorts. “If you brought pestilence into my house, I swear —“

“I’m fine,” Leo cuts him off, “It’s just, you know, school.”

Owain’s doubts and apprehensions attempt to claw their way to the surface. He tries to chain them down. “Do you require rest?” he asks, “We can take an extended recess while you recover.”

Leo fixes him with a sharp look. “No,” he says, “I’m not letting you do that again.”

“A-ah,” Owain says eloquently.

“He doesn’t need a day off, he needs to _get_ off,” Niles says. Owain feels feverish. Leo groans.

“What did I say about breaking him?” Leo gestures at Owain. “He’s pure red.”

“Hm.” Niles’s eye sweeps over Owain’s body. He’s gonna puke. “How far down does that blush go, anyway?”

“I —“

_“Niles,”_ Leo interrupts.

“What?” Niles turns to Leo, “What did I say?”

_“You know what you said.”_

This is far too much. The air vibrates with heat and tension between Niles and Leo, calling the two of them together while his own heart riots against his chest, daring him forward as well. Unsaid secrets and secrets unsaid tear a hole within.

He makes a decision.

“I should leave,” he says, voice shaking, as he forces himself to his feet. He grasps for an excuse. It doesn’t come.

“What?” Leo narrows his eyes and shifts his glare from Owain to Niles. “Look what you did!”

Niles frowns. “Was that too much?”

“Too _much —?”_

“Look,” Niles sighs, “I’ll tone it down. Sorry.”

Owain shakes his head. “No, I should really go.”

A hand wraps around his wrist. _Niles._ He looks down and frowns.

“No promises,” Niles says, “But I’ll try.”

“Sit down,” Leo says. Owain sighs. His great escape must take place later, when they’re distracted with one another. He relents and sits, Niles’s hand leaves his wrist, and they sit in silence until Niles clears his throat.

“Did we ever write that song?” Niles asks.

Leo shakes his head no.

“Are we still doing that?” Niles asks, “Or are we just gonna go up there and fuck around?”

“Uh,” Leo says. He stops there.

Owain carefully looks at the ceiling. It’s white. Silence is a perfectly acceptable answer.

“Well,” Niles says, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Owain be so quiet.”

Owain’s mouth opens against his will. The words nearly come and it’s only through his own strength and speed that he’s able to clap a hand over his mouth to silence himself, but now they know he has something to say. Niles raises an eyebrow. Leo watches, curiosity written on his face.

“I, uh,” Owain clears his throat and removes his hand, “I’ve conferred with divine forces to craft a perfect symphony.”

“Oh?” Leo asks, “Can you play it?”

“It’s not ready for mortal ears,” Owain explains, “To hear such omnipotent verses unrefined could potentially stir the demons within. Of course, I have much experience managing —”

“Play it,” Niles says.

Owain clears his throat and continues, louder. “I have much experience managing such monstrosities,” he swallows his demons down as they threaten to burst forth and share his sentiments through the power of song, “And you, my friends, lack the required training —”

“Are you scared?” Niles asks.

“— and the — the, uh,” Owain grits his teeth. The constant interruptions have scrambled his intricately crafted words. “It — it’s just not ready yet.”

Niles blows a raspberry.

“Whenever it’s ready,” Leo says, ignoring Niles, “I’d love to hear it.”

He ignores how the beasts roar in joy at the word _love._

“Ah,” Owain says, “Okay.”

Niles sets his bass aside directly on the floor and, in one swift movement, twists around so he’s laying on his stomach with his chin propped up in his hands. “So,” he kicks his legs in a terrible mockery of a sleepover in teen movies, “What’s it about?”

“DARK FEELINGS,” Owain says too loudly.

A pause.

“Like, uh,” Leo says, then trails off.

“HORNY!” Niles shouts. Owain chokes.

“That’s not a feeling,” Leo points out.

“It could be,” Niles responds. He looks to Owain for confirmation. Whatever he sees on his face fills him with delight. He says, with awe, “Oh my gods, it’s actually horny.”

“NO IT’S NOT,” Owain says too loudly again.

“You’re a _terrible_ liar,” Niles says, smirking. 

“How many times — _ugh,_ ” Leo sighs, “Let him come around in his own time.”

Owain refuses to read any further into that statement than necessary. “THANKS, LEO.”

Owain ignores Niles’s frustrated sigh and checks his phone. Inigo and Severa continue to ignore him unless absolutely necessary or to tell him to _just say something,_ and he can’t craft a conversation with friends and family blind to his struggle, so his notifications remain lifeless in his hand. He’s considering messaging his mother when a weight drapes itself across his shoulder. He looks up and jumps. His phone drops.

Niles bursts into laughter. He’s far too close. Owain can clearly see the leftover shine from his lip balm and he notices for the first time that Niles’s front teeth are slightly crooked. 

“Was that strictly necessary?” Leo asks.

“Yes,” Niles says. His arm shifts. “Yes it was.”

Then he’s cold. Niles leans away without warning, taking his heat with him. Owain considers leaning in, giving up, being selfish.

Then he realizes with a jolt that Niles has unlocked his phone. The phone he dropped on the floor. The phone he reached over and swiped from just beyond his line of sight. 

“How did you —” Owain thrusts his hand out but Niles is too fast. “How did you know my ultra secret passcode?!”

“It’s _dark_ in T9,” Niles answers. Owain gapes. “Now where’s your notes app, I know you write in it…”

_Wait._

“Wait!” 

“Absolutely not.”

_“Niles,”_ Leo interjects, but he’s too late. Owain surrenders to his most primal protective instincts and tackles Niles to the ground. Niles is skilled, though, and he’s successful in evading Owain’s desperate hand. Despite being a solid five inches shorter than him, Niles manages to keep his phone just out of reach while simultaneously navigating to his notes app. He opens it. Owain makes contact and smacks it out of his hand.

“You don’t have the strength,” Owain pants. When did he get so sweaty? “To handle those dark words.”

“You don’t have the strength to stop me,” Niles shoots back before sliding out from under Owain. Owain grabs his pants and _tugs._ It’s just enough force to knock Niles off-balance and bring him back down to the floor. Leo sighs and stands between them and Owain’s phone.

“Just, ugh,” Leo massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, “Just let Owain talk about his, uh, _craft_ in his own time.”

Niles scoffs. “He’ll never talk about it!”

“Come _ooooooon!”_ Owain doesn’t whine.

Niles turns to face him. “You will _never_ talk about it!”

“I will, just,” Owain takes a deep breath in, “When it’s ready.”

“That will be never.”

“Maybe we could talk about this like adults,” Leo mutters, “And not like fighting toddlers.”

_“Stoooop,”_ Owain doesn’t whine like a fighting toddler, _“Pleeeeease.”_

_“NO!”_ Niles does shout back like a fighting toddler.

“Why do I bother?” Leo sighs.

Niles turns back to face Leo. “You like it.”

“I guess.”

Niles looks at Owain again. “Will you let me go now?”

“No!” Owain tightens his grip on the calves of Niles’s pants, “You’ll just take my phone!”

“No I won’t.”

“Yes you _will!”_

Niles lunges for it. Owain shouts. Niles knocks into Leo and Leo falls on top of him. Owain scrambles over them but it’s too high, Leo’s limbs too lanky and flailing, and he falls on top of them with an _oof!_

“Get off me! I know where — _urgh_ — both of you are ticklish,” Leo grunts, “Don’t think I won’t.”

“Your tricky touches won’t disrupt my quest,” Owain lies, “I’ve trained endlessly to endure such torture.”

“Give me a few hours, I can find out where you’re most ticklish,” Niles says, his voice completely unaffected by the weight of two grown men on top of him.

“Really?” Leo deadpans, “Right now? While I’m stuck between you two?”

“Is there a better place?”

Niles pinches Leo’s thigh. Leo jerks his leg away reflexively, jostling Owain further until his knee lands on the floor between Niles’s legs while his upper body is still melting into Leo’s torso. He thinks this may have been the final step to banish him to hell; the heat between their bodies is certainly scorching enough. 

Or perhaps his inner beasts played some terrible trickery on the angels and he’s been elevated to heaven?

Leo shifts underneath him again. Owain doesn’t have the presence of mind to register his escape attempt, but he _does_ register the slide of their bodies together in the perfect sequence to shoot electricity up his spine and tighten the front of his pants. He decides this is definitely hell and hurries to lift his hips far, far away from both Niles and Leo.

This is his greatest mistake.

Niles takes advantage of Owain’s adjustment and rolls out from underneath Leo and himself, grabbing Owain’s phone in the process. Owain’s phone is in Niles’s hand and Owain is trapped; if he moves everyone will know he’s possessed by arousal, but if he stays stagnant secrets untold will spill from the LED screen. He sighs.

“Please stop,” he begs, the words barely escaping his lips.

Niles glances up at him. “Please let me read it,” he counters.

That wasn’t what Owain expected. “Why?”

“I wanna see what you made.”

Owain’s protests die on his tongue. “What?” he says, “R-really?”

Niles snorts. “Why did you _think?”_

_I think you’d hate me._ “I thought you’d make fun of me!”

Niles shrugs. “I might.”

_“Then no!”_

“Why are you still on top of me,” Leo mutters. Owain scrambles off him.

“I might not, though,” Niles continues. Owain watches, helpless, as Niles unlocks his phone again. Niles smirks. Owain’s heart drops. “But I might.”

Owain’s spirit shatters. He’s forced to surrender and gaze upon his own demise.

“You know,” Niles says after a torturous several minutes, “This is way better than that fanfiction you wrote.”

“Hey!” Owain pouts.

“Who’s this about?”

Owain’s world stops.

“What?” Leo asks.

“I said who’s this about?” Niles repeats.

Leo looks between Owain and Niles. “What do you mean?”

Niles raises his eyebrows at Owain. Owain swallows.

“I’m afraid your inquiry has mystified me,” he says.

“I could read this out loud,” Niles suggests, “Would that help?”

Owain chokes.

“Give me that.” Leo snatches Owain’s phone from Niles. “Ah.” Leo’s face goes somber and then blank, his mask carefully concealing unwanted emotion. “I see. Who’s this about?”

_“Nobody!”_ Owain insists. He endeavors to retrieve the correct words to cover his blunder and to enliven Leo. “The spirits whispered their words to me, I merely recorded —”

“It’s okay, you can tell us,” Leo interrupts. Oh, Owain detests his lifeless tone. “It’s not like, uh…”

_It’s not like…_

“For the love of — here,” Niles rips Owain’s phone from Leo’s hands and tosses it back to Owain. Owain stuffs it down his shirt for safekeeping. It falls straight through and onto the floor. “How are you both the stupid ones? Why am _I_ the smart one?!”

“Owain —” Leo starts, but Niles isn’t done.

“I stopped,” he says, “So now you stop. We all stop.”

“I understand if there’s someone else —” Leo continues. This time Owain cuts him off.

“Someone _else?!”_ Owain squeaks.

Niles puts his face in his hands. Leo blinks.

“I, uh, yeah?” Leo’s mask melts into disarray, a combination of confusion and apprehension. 

“I thought you were supposed to be the smartest one of all of us,” Niles mutters.

“I think I understand now,” Leo says. He looks down at his hands. “I need a moment to process this.”

A pause.

_“ELSE?!”_ Owain squeaks. Again.

Niles looks up. “Oh wow,” he says, “You both broke.”

Leo says nothing; instead, he stands, walks to the wall, and rests his forehead against the cool, white cinderblock.

Owain clears his throat. “Niles, my dear friend,” he begins. Niles stares. “What just happened?”

“Well, _dear friend,”_ Niles says like a stab to the gut, “Leo got jealous.”

“You can stop now,” Leo groans.

“W-why?” Owain asks. 

Niles rolls his eye. “Leo got jealous because he thinks that song isn’t about us.”

Owain gets cold. Then his body gets sweltering hot. “I —”

“Well?” Niles leans in. Owain’s going to combust. He’s going to explode and burn Niles’s house down around them if this doesn’t cease immediately.

“Listen —”

_“Do_ tell,” Niles says. 

“I have overstepped some boundaries,” Owain hurries to say, “And I tried to insert space —”

Niles barks a laugh. “Is _that_ what all that was about?”

“But I —” Owain swallows and looks at his feet, “That is to say, I have failed, time and time again, to stay away. My weakness will be your downfall, I — I’m sorry.”

There’s another pause. The silence suffocates him, presses scalding oxygen into his lungs as he chokes around his rejoicing demons. His chains shatter, but he doesn’t feel free; rather, he feels as though he’s bound himself to Niles and Leo against their wills. He makes to stand.

“Alas, darkness calls,” he begins. Leo marches over, grabs his hand, and tugs him back down.

“Weak?!” Leo asks. Accuses. Owain tries to pull back. Niles grabs his other hand.

“You’re so stupid,” Niles says fondly.

“Why do you think you need to leave?!” Leo shouts. Owain can’t look at him. 

“To force myself between the two of you would be a grievous sin,” Owain says with what little strength he has left. Leo’s and Niles’s hands tighten around his. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“I would _love_ that,” Niles purrs.

_Love._

“Between _what?”_ Leo asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Owain forces his eyes open and looks from Leo, to Niles, and back to Leo. Niles appears unbothered by this exchange, but Leo’s eyes are soft and pleading. He’s frozen. His breath shudders.

“You’re clearly in love with each other,” Owain breathes out.

The atmosphere shatters. Niles snorts. Leo reaches with his free hand to massage the bridge of his nose.

“Yes,” Leo says. The confirmation hurts worse than the knowledge alone. Leo continues, “We’re also in love with _you.”_

Owain stops hurting. Owain stops feeling. 

Owain stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i edited this drunk so sorry if this is a disaster
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


	7. Chapter 7

_Owain.exe has stopped working.  
>check online for a solution and close the program  
>close the program_

* * *

It’s morning.

It’s _morning?!_

Owain jolts up and takes in his surroundings. Sunlight streams through the windows, lighting up Niles’s living room in shades of pink and oranges, warning demons to take their leave and waking the angels that still slumber. Streaks slope over the plush blanket covering his legs and onto a shape to his left. He swallows.

Lying next to him on Niles’s pull-out couch with enough space for Naga is Leo, clutching the edges of the blanket Owain must have claimed in his sleep. Goosebumps dot his arms. His hair is splayed over his pillow, blonde against blood red, a cutting contrast that leaves an afterimage in his vision as he blinks around.

There’s not much else. Just Leo, a blanket, himself, and the exquisite aroma of freshly brewed coffee. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Niles’s smooth voice says from behind him. He jumps and twists around just in time to see Niles raise an eyebrow over his novelty coffee mug. “You’re just gonna let Leo freeze to death? That’s cold. Colder than he is.”

Owain throws the entire blanket over Leo’s shivering body before guilt can overtake him. 

“Smooth,” Niles says.

“What —” Owain takes a shaky breath, “What transpired while I, uh..”

“Hm.” Niles sips his coffee. “What do you _think_ transpired?”

Owain looks to Leo for answers. Leo curls up under the blanket. He looks at his own hands for answers. They are hands. He looks back at Niles.

“Did I transcend?” he guesses.

Niles snorts. “I dunno. Maybe.”

“I don’t feel transcendent,” he mutters to himself. Niles chokes on his coffee. 

“What do you feel like, then?” Owain jumps and looks down to see Leo’s groggy face peeking out from his newly constructed cocoon of blankets. Owain frowns.

“Did I wake you?” he asks. Leo flinches.

“Not so loud,” he mutters.

Owain didn’t realize he was loud. He whispers, as quietly as he can, _“Did I wake you?”_

“Louder than that,” Leo mutters. 

“He asked if he woke you,” Niles says. Leo sighs.

“No.” He shoots Niles a dirty look. _“You_ did.”

“My bad,” Niles says, not looking at all guilty. 

“My apologies, friend,” Owain says, “I believe he choked in reaction to something I said.”

_“Friend,_ right,” Leo says. He sits up, still wrapped in the blanket, and yawns. “What do you think, Niles? Friends?”

Niles takes another sip of his coffee and says, “Nope.”

Owain’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach. “No?” he asks, “What did I say? What did I _do?”_

“It’s more about what you didn’t do,” Niles says. He sets his coffee down on a wooden table and sits on Owain’s other side. “Do you remember?”

“Remember..?”

“Are you ready to talk about our conversation last night before you passed out?” Leo asks.

“Before I — oh.” Owain’s face heats as he remembers their confession, Leo’s declaration of love, and his own failure to handle such a powerful reveal. “Did I really pass out?”

“Yes,” Niles says.

“I called your mom,” Leo says, “She said you just do that sometimes and called you dramatic.”

Niles sighs wistfully. “Such a lovely woman.”

“You called my _mom?”_ Owain gasps, “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“No,” Leo says, “Of course not.”

“She definitely knew, though,” Niles says.

“She did not know,” Leo corrects.

Owain ignores the impending challenge of explaining all this to his mother. Then he remembers what _all this_ is again and considers passing out once more.

“Stop,” Leo says. Owain is forcibly reminded of Leo’s uncanny ability to read people. “Inigo was right, you’ve really built this all up to be a disaster.”

“Ah, but isn’t that exactly what we love about him?” Niles sighs. Owain chokes.

“You know not what you claim.” Owain hurries to revive his persona but he remains just out of reach, slumbering beyond the curtain Owain pulled shut when he fell unconscious. What normally feels like the perfectly marinated pair of jeans feels disingenuous. 

“I suppose it _is_ exactly what we love about him.” Leo carefully enunciates the last five words. 

“C’mon.” Niles nudges him with his shoulder. “Let go for once.”

“I can’t _let go._ I can’t inflict this upon you.” Owain grips at nothing in his fists. His knuckles turn white. “It could _destroy_ you. It’s almost destroyed me countless times.”

“So what you’re saying,” Niles says, slowly sounding out each word, “Is that you love us too much.”

Owain takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m saying if I unleash such raw passion on unsuspecting mortals, it’ll overwhelm them. It will consume all other emotion. I can’t do that to you.”

“We’ll die of too much love,” Niles confirms.

Owain presses his lips together in thought. “I suppose in the simplest sense, yes,” he says.

Leo throws himself onto his back with a groan. The mattress creaks ominously under him.

“Careful,” Niles warns. Leo ignores him.

“Think about what you’re saying,” Leo says, his voice bursting with tension and stress. “Stop thinking about the words you’re using, and think about what you’re actually _saying.”_

“The words I use and what I’m saying are one and the same,” Owain says, frowning, and for once in his life he means it. Mostly. His mask barely fits anymore and offers little to hide behind.

“Then what you’re saying is ridiculous,” Leo says. “I don’t mean to be cruel, Owain, but you’re being cruel to yourself.”

“You don’t understand —” Owain begins his desperate defense, but Leo cuts him off.

“Then speak plainly,” he says, and with that he strips Owain of the last of his verbose armor and he feels exposed, susceptible to attacks on all sides. He looks between them. If there’s anywhere he can lower his defenses, it’s with the two friends he trusts completely sitting with him on a shitty mattress. He takes a deep breath in.

“I just —” he chokes on his words and clears his throat before continuing, “I’ve never felt this fully about another person before.”

“Fully,” Leo repeats.

“Yes.” Owain can’t think of a plainer word, so he continues. “It’s consuming. It occupies my every thought. It _hurts.”_

“Damn,” Niles says, “You have it bad.”

Owain sputters. _“Bad?!”_

“Yep, bad,” Niles repeats. He does not elaborate.

“Bad isn’t the correct word,” Owain mutters. 

“Then what is?” Leo asks.

Owain shuts his mouth and thinks. Language is nearly infinite, able to describe abstract concepts in the human heart and deep in space alike, and yet he’s haunted by a sensation he can’t define. Euphoric, urgent, painfully pressuring, bliss… the words don’t fit together in any formation.

He thinks of his stupid cards and wonders if they’d construct a clearer picture. Perhaps he shouldn’t trust them after their recent inaccuracies, or perhaps he shouldn’t trust _himself_ after interpreting them so terribly. 

The thought hits him. His own thoughts scream on impact.

“Oh,” he says, more to himself than to either Niles or Leo, “That was my fault.”

“Yes,” Leo says, “But be more specific.”

“The cards,” he explains. Leo stares. He rushes to explain. “I did a spread after you left the day we began our song. I must have misread them, they warned of manipulation and pain and I —”

“Freaked out?” Niles interjects.

“I suppose that would describe my reaction,” Owain says.

Niles wraps an arm around Owain’s shoulder. Owain tenses. This is hardly the first time Niles has been this close, but as he sits frozen and takes in the warmth from Niles’s arm, he realizes the electricity between them is something new; something brewing from the beginning of time until it exploded in a big bang, bringing with it a new world and a new life. He feels himself being pulled into Niles’s orbit. He lets it happen.

“Just give it a shot,” Niles says. “What’s the worst that happens? We all die and take over hell or whatever it is you’re after? That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Hell is a dominion I don’t care to govern,” Owain says. Niles hums thoughtfully.

“It does sound like a pain in the ass,” he agrees.

“What the actual hell are you talking about?” Leo asks.

“Hell, actually,” Niles responds. Owain chuckles, caught off guard. He stops when he feels the weight of Leo press into his other side as he tucks his head between Owain’s neck and shoulder.

Owain glances down and sees only golden hair reflecting the last pinks of dawn. He pauses a moment and says, “So, um…”

They each wait a moment for Owain to continue. When he doesn’t Niles asks, “What?”

Owain clears his throat. He searches for the words to do this epic moment justice and comes up short. “What does this, um, mean?”

“You cannot seriously be asking this right now,” Niles groans, “You’re literally cuddled into my side like a puppy. Are you a puppy?”

“No,” Owain squeaks.

“There you go.”

“It means we’re together,” Leo says, his breath tickling the side of Owain’s neck. He shudders.

“Like.” He gestures between the two men on either side of him. “You two..?”

“No,” Leo sighs, “Us _three.”_

“That’s allowed?!” Owain asks.

“Do you care?” Niles shoots back.

He thinks about explaining this to his mother. “Maybe?”

“Why?” Niles asks.

Owain doesn’t want to admit he was thinking about explaining this to his mother. “Um —”

“You’re making this into a much bigger deal than it actually is,” Leo says. He holds Owain tighter, pulling their bodies together.

Owain considers his words and, despite himself, can feel himself growing giddy. He can’t hold back. He _refuses_ to hold back any longer. A big, goofy grin grows on his face. “We’re together,” he whispers.

“Yes,” Leo grunts into his back.

“That means we can cuddle,” Owain says in awe. 

“We’re literally cuddling right now,” Niles says. He turns so he’s facing Owain and pulls him into his chest. “We already went over this.”

He can’t stop grinning. The warmth on all sides fuels his enthusiasm and their touch grants him strength. He wraps his hands in Niles’s shirt and pulls himself closer. A peaceful silence settles over them until —

“Do we still have to be in a band?” Leo asks. 

“Yes,” Niles answers immediately.

Owain thinks for a moment. “I suppose not,” he says slowly, “If it makes you unhappy —”

“YES!” Niles shouts.

Leo sighs. “I guess it’ll be over soon.”

Owain opens his mouth to suggest perhaps they drop out, but Niles cuts him off.

“I can’t believe _I’m_ the most excited out of all of us,” he says.

“Me neither,” Leo mutters.

Niles’s enthusiasm fills him with a passionate strength. A fervor fills his body and he says, “It’ll go great, a performance for the ages! Historians will write epics about our tale!”

“Nope,” Niles says with no less enthusiasm.

“Definitely not,” Leo agrees with no enthusiasm at all.

Owain will not be deterred. “Yes it will,” he says, decisive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a month. i spent a _month_ working on this chapter and fucking hating it every step of the way, and you know what i did? do you know what i did this morning??? i deleted the whole fuckin thing, started over, and went in a totally different direction and here i am now. lifehack: don't write shit you hate
> 
> anyway, all we have left is the epilogue! will they win battle of the bands?? is that particularly important to the story or was it just a convenient setting????? you decide
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


	8. epilogue

A couple claps. Awkward silence. Someone clears their throat over the speakers.

“Give it up for, uh, Die Käffer,” the unseen voice announces. A subdued round of applause follows them offstage and then welcomes them back on when they shuffle back to retrieve Leo’s drumset. 

“I don’t see any reason to stick around and see who won.” Leo glances at the stage where another band is beginning to set up. “It certainly wasn’t us.”

Niles hums. “The sooner we get outta here the sooner we can —”

_“Don’t_ finish that sentence.”

Owain startles and spins to see Severa staring severely. He beams.

“Severa the Moonborn!” He holds his arms wide and grand. “Did you emerge from your lair to observe our performance?”

She rolls her eyes. A small smile betrays her true feelings. “No way,” she says, “I’ve heard enough about this. I’m here for _them.”_

Severa jerks her head toward the stage. Owain turns back and is consumed by joy at the sight of their friends onstage, preparing for their own musical masterpiece. Lucina leads with a short bassline and the rest of the band follows.

“Wow,” he whispers, awed, “I had no idea they were performing as well! Is that _Laurent_ on guitar?”

“Yep,” Severa says.

“Why didn’t they say anything?”

“They did,” she rolls her eyes again, “You’ve been too busy moping around and making out with your boyfriends to notice.”

“Owain Dark has never moped,” Owain shoots back.

“Uh huh,” Severa says. “Since you had no idea they’d be here, I assume you had no idea your mom would be here, either.”

Owain’s heart drops. Niles laughs.

“Where’s Misses Lissa?” Niles asks with sarcastic respect, “I’d love to say hello.”

_“Niles,”_ Leo hisses.

“Please,” Owain squeaks, “Don’t.”

Severa is a terrible, diabolical villain.

“She’s right there.” Severa points to a table along the wall where Lissa and Inigo are both seated. “Why don’t you say hi?”

Niles doesn’t wait for permission; he cuts between Severa and Owain before Owain can stop him and sprints to their table, sliding into Severa’s empty chair. Lissa’s authentic grin quickly transforms into something devious. Inigo backs his chair away.

“Rude,” Severa huffs. 

Niles and Lissa easily fall into their legendary banter, throwing jabs out of earshot while Inigo watches in distant horror. Leo nudges his arm.

“Let’s say hi,” he suggests. Owain grins.

Severa waves them off. “Go.”

Owain runs up to them and slams his hands on the table, causing Lissa and Inigo to jump in shock. “Well?” he asks, eager, “Did you feel it?”

Inigo suppresses a laugh. Owain ignores him. Lissa looks up at him with wide eyes and asks, “Feel what?”

“The _power!”_ A jolt of electricity pulses down his spine at the thought. “Our abilities came together to form a force so potent, so incredible —”

“What did your song mean?” Lissa steamrolls over his monologue, “I didn’t, um, _get_ it.”

“Mother! Songs don’t require meaning!” Owain pulls out a chair next to Niles and collapses into it. “They only require artistry and might!”

“I suppose that’s true,” Lissa says, “But I don’t get it.”

“Don’t even try,” Leo says evenly as he takes a seat on Owain’s other side. 

“You two are weak,” Niles says, “We can tell dear Misses Lissa what Owain’s masterpiece means.”

“Oh, so it does mean something?” Lissa leans forward. “Tell me.”

“Do I even want to know?” Inigo asks warily.

Niles smirks at him. “I think you already do.”

Inigo groans.

“Tell me!” Lissa shouts. 

Owain stares at Niles. Niles glances from Owain, to Leo, back to Owain. Then he grins something devilish and gives Owain a quick, innocent peck. Owain’s face heats, possessed by embarrassment. Niles turns back to Lissa and grins. She gapes.

_“You!”_

“Me,” Niles confirms. “Leo, too.”

Lissa stands and points at Leo. _“You!!!”_

Leo clears his throat and doesn’t respond.

“M-mother!” Owain holds his hands up, a pitiful attempt at protection from his mother’s fury. “Please, calm yourself —”

“Oh, I’ll get you for this.” Lissa sits back down in her chair and crosses her arms, glaring at Owain the entire time. “This is _not_ how you tell your mother you’re seeing someone. Someones.”

“Ah.” Owain’s chest lightens. “You’re not angry?”

“Oh, I’m angry,” she snaps.

“A-ah.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell Misses Lissa,” Niles says in mock offense, “How could you?”

Owain sinks down in his chair and begs for the darkness of the venue to conceal his shame. It doesn’t. He sinks deeper and deeper until he’s nearly laying down on this single chair when he realizes he’s being dragged down by exhaustion, but Owain refuses to admit defeat. He hides a yawn behind his hand and curses the dark entities that haunt him, drawing out his energy like parasites. In that moment he loses track of the conversation. 

“Owain?” Leo lightly nudges him with his elbow. 

“Hm?” Owain asks.

“Inigo asked you a question.”

Owain turns his attention to Inigo. He doesn’t hear anything he says, though; the moment Inigo opens his mouth to speak Owain is overcome by another yawn.

“Maybe we should go,” Leo says. Owain shakes his head.

“Owain Dark will not bend to the will of exhaustion,” he says, “He is far stronger —”

“Don’t make me listen to this,” Lissa groans. “Go to bed.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure he gets to bed just fine,” Niles says as he stands and tugs at Owain’s arm to follow. Leo takes his other arm.

“If you tell me more than that I’ll leave frogs in all your pockets,” Lissa snaps. 

Niles laughs. “Noted.”

“I’m not tired,” Owain says. Lissa waves him off.

“Yes you are,” she says, “Now go.”

Inigo smirks as Owain’s dragged away by the combined forces of Niles and Leo. Owain reaches out for support. Inigo turns away. Lissa waves goodbye. _Betrayal._

“Bye Misses Lissa!” Niles waves with his free arm. Owain tries to break free. His grip tightens.

“I’m perfectly capable of making this journey myself,” Owain protests. 

“Sure,” Niles says.

“Unhand me!”

“No,” Leo says.

Owain attempts to argue, but he’s consumed against his will by yet another yawn and he’s forced to surrender. He begrudgingly picks up his guitar and trails behind as they exit the building, closing another chapter in their new lives together. Each step further away from the main hall and down the loading dock into the quiet night refuels Owain. By the time they’ve reached the car those parasites lulling him to sleep have withered away into dust and the cool air of night has filled him with a newfound energy.

“In any case, that went about as well as I expected,” Leo mutters as he opens the trunk to his car. Niles crouches down and helps load his drumset.

“I have no complaints,” Owain says. Leo stares in disbelief. Owain blinks. “What?”

“We were easily the worst performance,” Leo says. 

“I see no reason to put weight on the quality of our song,” Owain says. Leo stares harder. “Power doesn’t come from quality, Leo, power comes from _passion._ Did we not put on a passionate display?”

Leo’s stare softens. “Passion, huh?”

“Yes!” Owain opens the door to the backseat of Leo’s car and gently sets his guitar on the floor. “Do you agree, Niles?”

“Yep,” Niles agrees.

“I knew you’d understand, my partner in darkness!”

“Yep,” Niles agrees again.

“And you,” Owain holds a hand out toward Leo to behold his power, “My twilight prince, you can learn the ways of the night! I only ask that you may teach us the ways of the day.”

Leo glances at Owain’s hand with raised brows. “We’ve been together a month,” he says, “And we’ve known each other longer. I think I’ve taught you all I know.”

“There are always new mysteries to unravel,” Owain says. 

Leo huffs out a small laugh. “There always are,” he mutters.

“And you’re the biggest mystery of them all!” Niles claps Owain on the back. “Come on, let’s go.”

“But our destinies!” Owain protests.

“Our destiny is my bed,” Niles says. Owain endeavors to retain a blank expression but he’s unable to quell the rising heat to his face. He clears his throat.

“Our quest to your bed shall commence!” he says.

“When will you stop blushing everytime Niles says something a little dirty?” Leo asks.

“I hope he never does,” Niles says fondly. Owain doesn’t think he will.

Leo closes the trunk to his car and they all pile in, Owain in the backseat, Leo driving, and Niles in the passenger seat. Leo turns the radio to something low and serene. Owain feels himself growing stronger under the cover of darkness with only the night sky to challenge him.

“This is the correct path,” Owain says, suddenly and with conviction. “The faults that led me to your sides are ones I would face again if it meant I could share my heart with the two of you for the rest of time. So long as the stars shine, I will love you.”

“Cute,” Niles says, “But I think I’d prefer if none of us had to face, uh, _faults_ again.”

“But I would,” Owain clarifies.

“I got that part,” Niles says.

“A thousand times,” Owain continues.

“Thanks,” Leo says. Owain beams.

“You’re welcome!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said i'd finish this fic before my birthday and i finished it with three days to spare yeehaw!!!!!!
> 
> thank u so much for reading! i'm not as familiar with fates as i am with 3h so it was a challenge for me, but i'm looking forward to writing more fates content
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


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